


The Wind in Visions

by the_mystery_twins (Jheselbraum)



Series: The Wind in Visions [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: AU, Angst, Asexual Stanford Pines, Car Accident, Character Death, F/F, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-04-22 12:25:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 293,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4835288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jheselbraum/pseuds/the_mystery_twins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither Stanley nor Stanford are very comfortable with the idea of religion, but when Dipper and Mabel invite them to their bar mitzvah after the end of summer, they'll learn what it truly means to feel the wrath of god.</p>
<p>This story takes place after the canon of the episode "Roadside Attraction", so some confirmed things that happen after that episode will not be canon within the story. More specifically, the events of Dipper and Mabel Vs the Future are where the Gravity Falls canon and this fic's continuity split.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't Call Me Sixer

**Author's Note:**

> 2600+ hits!! WOAH! Thanks so much to everyone for reading and sharing with people! We don't have anymore chapters stocked up just yet, so updates might be a little less frequent, but we have plenty left of the story to share, so stay tuned!  
> -The Mystery Twins.

 “You serious? That’s in spitting distance of the shack!” Stanley was shocked, to say the least. Thirty years of searching for his brother’s damned journals and Dipper had found it well within walking distance of Stanford’s house. “I outta pop Ford upside his big nerdy head for that one!” 

Stanford Pines shot his brother a look from across the dinner table, carefully placing his knife down on the napkin before replying. “In my _defense_ , not only were you _not_ supposed to get all three journals and reactivate the portal, but Fiddleford and I designed the tree to be hyper-realistic, and virtually undetectable. It originally disguised a hidden bunker.” Ford paused, glancing between Dipper and Mabel.  “Don’t go in there, by the way. To even access the bunker, you need to climb the tree and pull a hidden lever that’s a hundred feet up. And once you’re inside, there’s a lot of weapons that are far more dangerous than a crossbow. And a security room that _will_ crush you if you’re not careful. So don’t go near it, alright?”

“For once, I’m with Ford. That place sounds dangerous, and I don’t want you getting hurt,” Stanley said, the frustration over thirty years of searching fading into concern for his niece and nephew. No matter what trouble they got into, he could never stay mad at them for very long. And if it hadn’t been for Dipper, Stanley likely would’ve never found the journals to begin with, so he let it slide in favor of more pressing matters. As long as Dipper and Mabel stayed away from Ford’s spooky-scary apocalypse bunker, he considered himself satisfied.

“Yeah, about that…Is it the same one with the terrifying shape-shifting monster? And the cute little caterpillars? Because we **’** ve totally been there." Mabel recalled this memory as if were nothing, and happily returned to the slightly overcooked hamburger helper in front of her.

At this, Ford went very pale. His fork dropped against the plate with a loud _clang_ , splattering bits of ground beef across the tablecloth. “You...  went _into the bunker_?!”

Dipper was quite proud of the clever way he’d discovered the bunker, and assumed it wasn't too big of a deal. "Yeah, a few weeks ago. We figured we might find more about you and your journals in there. Things did go awry...but it was nothing we couldn't handle."

“Now, hang on just a minute! Wasn’t it you who _promised_ he’d only use that journal for self-defense?! And _not go looking for trouble?!_ ” Stanley was livid. Dipper and Mabel could have gotten hurt or killed, based on what Ford and Mabel were saying. And if the past thirty years were any indication, Stanley would never have found them.

Both Dipper and Mabel looked ashamed. Sure, they weren't looking for trouble on purpose, but they now knew _exactly_ what their Grunkle Stan meant when he set that rule.

“We were just looking for the _author…_ ” Dipper said, quietly, not wanting to admit that he’d broken a rule and made a mistake. “And anyway, wasn’t it _you_ who _promised_ that he didn’t have any more _bombshell secrets about the town?_ ”

“I’ve lied about this town for thirty years, one more didn’t hurt! And you would’ve _found_ the darn author _just as easy_ if you’d kept your end of the bargain! You could’ve gotten killed and I would’ve never even _known about it_!” Both of them were so wrapped up in their shouting match that neither noticed that Ford had grabbed Mabel and had her huddled behind him in the far corner of the room.

“Mabel, you offered your blood in exchange for a unicorn quest recently, so I’m _assuming_ you’re not the shapeshifter. I want you to listen to me _very carefully_. The Dipper and Stan in front of us _might not really be Dipper and Stan._ ” Ford’s hand twitched as he gripped the small triangular pistol attached to his hip, and took aim in Stan and Dipper’s general direction. “I need you to tell me _exactly_ what happened in that bunker, so I can figure out which one is real.”

“Grunkle Ford, wait! The shapeshifter is _definitely_ back in the bunker! Dipper and Grunkle Stan are real!” Mabel cried, grabbing for the gun.

“You’re _sure_ , Mabel?” Ford asked, raising the gun towards the ceiling instead of the dinner table now, but holding his right hand on Mabel to keep her between him and the wall. He never took his eyes off Dipper and Stan, steeling his nerves for if he had to shoot one of them, reminding himself that he was aiming for the _shapeshifter_ , not his _family_.

“Yes, I’m sure! Dipper wanted us to help him find the author, er, _you_ , and he got me, Soos, and Wendy to help him out. I figured out your nerdy invisible ink trick, and Dipper used that to find your creepy bunker, and I tried  to get him to confess his love to Wendy, and then Soos found a laptop, and Dipper was calling for my help _and I thought he was joking, and then Wendy almost died, and then there were two of her, and then Dipper hit the shapeshifter with the axe, and then Soos and I froze it in y-your c-cryo-c-c-... f-freezy thing-”_ Ford dropped the gun the second he noticed Mabel crying, and knelt down so his face was level with hers.

“Mabel, it’s okay. You’re not in trouble, and I’m not going to hurt Dipper or Stan. I believe you, they’re not the shapeshifter.” He put a six-fingered hand on her tiny shoulder. “I believe you, Mabel.” With that, Mabel buried her face against Ford and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her sweater, and tried to dry up her tears.

“Ford, what the hell?!” Stanley allowed himself this swear word, his favorite niece was in tears, seemingly at the fault of his brother. Dipper didn’t say a word, he just ran to his sister’s side, trying to pull her away from Ford. “I can’t turn my back for five _seconds_ without-”

“G-Grunkle Stan, he thought one of you was the _shapeshifter_!” Mabel sniffled through her tears.

“I did take out my gun, but I would _never_ fire it at anyone unless I was _absolutely sure_ it was the shapeshifter.”

"Yeah, and how would you tell? You don't just pull out a science gun in front of a kid, Ford! You could have asked first!" Stanley turned almost red with rage. Sure, he wasn't the best influence on the kids, but this was ridiculous!

“Oh, gee, I only raised it from birth and encountered several other members of its species in _more_ than a few dimensions. These things can take the form of anything they see, they don’t die, and they. _Hate. Humans._ Of course I’m going to use a gun! A _twelve-year-old_ could figure it out, Stan!”

“...Well, he’s got ya there…” Dipper said in a small voice, still clinging to Mabel.

"Grunkle Stan, he's just trying to protect us... Please don't fight. I'm okay..!" Mabel quickly wiped her face and put on a smile for Stan, "See? Let's finish dinner." All she wanted was for her two estranged Great Uncles to get along again, and this was not helping.

“...You’re still in trouble for going in the bunker in the first place. No Ducktective for a week.” Stan knelt down to Mabel’s level, scooping her up in his big arms and setting her on his shoulder. “But yeah, I get why Ford did what he did. I don’t like it, but I get it.”

Mabel and Dipper both pouted a little at the punishment, but it certainly could have been worse. Mabel leaned against Stan and wrapped her little arm around his head **,** to hold onto his fez for balance. "I'm sorry we disobeyed you, Grunkle Stan."

“It’s alright, kid. I’m just glad you’re safe.” Stan looked down at Dipper, who was standing next to Ford, still miffed about being punished. “Look, Dipper, I know _why_ you did what you did. And, honestly, I probably woulda done the same thing when I was your age. I know I lied to you back then, and I don’t regret doing that; I did what I had to to get Ford back. But I still went back on my word, so I’ll tell ya what: no Ducktective for me either.” Stan knelt down once again, trying not to wince as his knees protested. “Alright?” Stan offered his hand.

“Alright,” Dipper said, taking Stan’s hand and trying not to yelp as he felt himself being lifted off the ground. Stan’s shoulders popped at the sudden weight, but eventually, he had both Dipper and Mabel balancing on his shoulders.

Mabel cheered, "WOO, GRUNKLE-BACK RIDE!" and offered Dipper a high five. Dipper accepted her high five, with almost as much enthusiasm. Mabel looked down at Ford with her metallic grin, "Grunkle Ford, you can't tell us what happens on Ducktective this week, okay? No spoilers!"

“Alright,” Ford chuckled. “No spoilers. Though, I’m afraid I won’t be watching Ducktective this week.”

“Aw, why not? You still think it’s a dumb kid’s show?” Mabel asked, her lower lip sticking out in a false pout.

“No, it’s not that. The cryogenic chamber in the bunker hasn’t had proper maintenance in thirty years, and I’m going to have to go check on it.”

Dipper looked antsy as he asked, "Great Uncle Ford, can I come with you? It would be really cool to get a tour of the bunker."

“Absolutely not.” Both Stan and Ford said in unison.

“Maybe one day, once I tone down the security and make sure the shapeshifter is secure. But right now? No,” Ford said, a little more gently this time. “Though, it would be a good idea to have someone accompany me.” Mabel raised her hand eagerly.

“ _Not you!_ ” Once again, Stan and Ford were in perfect sync.

“I was referring to Stanley, the only other capable adult in the room.” Both of the twins whined with disappointment, and their Grunkle set them back down on the ground.

“Kids, we _just_ talked about how _dangerous_ that place can be. I know you wanna go out an’ have fun but you’re already grounded from the first time you two gremlins went down there.” Stan paused. “And I’m also grounded, for lying,” He added, looking out into the middle distance.

Dipper sighed. “Okay, I guess you’re right. Is there anything we _can_ do to help you out, Great Uncle Ford? After what happened with Wendy, I don’t want the shapeshifter getting out either.”

“Well… I suppose I’ll need someone to hide the journals. Just in case,” Ford said, scratching his chin.

“Great! We’re on it, Grunkle Ford! We’re hide-and-seek masters!” Mabel said, grabbing Dipper's hand and yanking it into the air.

"Once Mabel and I hid from our parents for a whole 6 hours in our toy box before they found us. We've got this down," Dipper said, taking the third journal out from his vest pocket, and gripping Mabel’s hand as they ran upstairs to grab the other two.

“...Stan?” Ford asked, tentatively. “Please, I know we haven’t gotten along very well lately, but if something happens to me down in that bunker…”

“Alright.”

“If the shapeshifter tries to come back looking like me, the whole town would be in danger. _Dipper and Mabel_ would be in danger,” Ford continued.

“I said _alright_ , Stanford.” Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. Something in the back of his head noted that Ford only ever said please if he _needed_ something from him, but he elected to ignore it. “That shapeshifter’s dangerous. Dangerous enough to make _you_ pull a gun on a twelve-year-old kid. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep those kids safe from your experiments… And I read your journals. I _know_ you experimented on this thing.”

“I never ran anything more invasive than a standard medical procedure! I had to figure out how to take care of it _somehow_.” Ford cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders, clasping his hands behind his back. “Regardless, the shapeshifter’s most basic instincts compel it to destroy all other lifeforms. They can’t get hurt and die, but they _do_ need to eat, and they’d rather murder competing species for resources than work together.”

"Sounds like my ex-girlfriend!" Stan laughed, a wide grin on his face. He could write a whole book of inappropriate Grunkle jokes.

“...I’m not even going to _ask_.” Ford sighed, bending over to retrieve his fallen pistol. “We’ll need weapons. Stan, I’m… Giving you this pistol. I’ll grab my electric gloves, and my rifle, and we’ll head out. We’ll think of a strategy on the way.”

"Aw, this is all I get? Do I get to bring my own toys to the party?" Stan joked once more, although he did have a private arsenal behind the vending machine.

“Well, it depends. Do you own a weapon that can blast its way through five feet of solid tungsten?” Ford said, sardonically. “ _I’ll_ be the one actually fighting the shapeshifter if necessary. I’ve dealt with dozens of them, I know how they think.”

"Then what do you need me for? You seem to know what you're doing." Stan took the pistol to examine it and twirled it around his index finger.

“Because these things are _dangerous,_ Stanley. Because this one in particular has had thirty years to learn forms that I might not even recognize. Because the shapeshifter could very well take _my form_ and try to trick the kids. If you’re there to stop him, to recognize which one is the fake, or at least to help _me_ stop him, _lives_ could be saved.”

“...You really think this thing might kill you, don’t you.” Stan said. “And you need me as your _backup plan_ , as usual. You ever think this thing might kill me? Might take _my_ form?”

“Even if it did, which it can’t since it hasn’t seen you before, and there’s enough of a difference in our appearances to where he can’t figure out what you look like on his own--”

"Damn straight. I'm the handsome one." Stan interjected and smirked coyly.

“-- _I’d_ be able to tell the difference,” Stanford finished, grinding his teeth. “Before we set out, we’re going to come up with a signal, a sign to let the other one know who’s real. It has to be _very_ specific. Something only _you_ would think of. So, _no_ , you _can’t_ just flip me off.”

Stan pondered for a while, doing his best to figure out what he would remember. His teeth split into a grin, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Stick your finger up your nose. No, one finger in each nostril!"

“ _I’m_ not doing that and _you_ can’t come up with my signal! Please, take this _seriously_ ,” Ford huffed, rubbing his temples.

"I'm as serious as the grave! You think some evil monster is gonna think to go digging for gold? No, it’s gonna think of some smart nerdy thing, because you're a smart nerd." Ford balked at Stan’s statement. 

“...Stanley, you might be onto something. If we’re in a situation where we don’t know who’s who, one of us will ask for a sign. We’ll probably be panicking and get _sentimental_ about it. No one in their right mind would think to do something so… disgusting during a touching moment.” 

Stan looked just a little too proud of his idea. "Who's the smart twin now, Ford?" He elbowed his brother, chuckling a little. 

Ford was a little taken aback. “...I never said you weren’t,” He said quietly.

Stan felt a little twinge of sadness in his heart, but let it roll off his back. "Being in space or whatever for thirty years made you lose your sense of humor, Ford. C'mon, we should tuck the kids in for the night and clean up dinner..." Stan made every effort to push Ford's comment aside.

“Alright, but we should move _quickly_. And you might want to call Soos and explain the situation before we leave.” Ford said, moving towards the dinner table to clean the forgotten dishes. Though the leftover meat had long since gotten cold, and upon closer examination appeared to have bits of hair in it, Ford made sure to save every bite before setting to work washing the dishes.

Stan placed the gun in his coat's breast pocket and pulled himself up the stairs to check on the twins in the attic. He tapped on their door and poked his head in. "You two should be getting your butts in bed." He whispered, just in case they were already asleep. And a cursory glance around the attic told him they were. Dipper and Mabel were passed out together on Mabel's bed, surrounded by a heaping pile of hideously cute stuffed animals. _Good_ , thought Stan. _Those kids haven’t been spending as much time together lately. Maybe all this shapeshifter talk got ‘em hanging out together again._ Stan turned out their light, and shut their door very carefully. He returned to his room to dress in something easier to move in, and to give Soos a quick call. Soos picked up while Stanley was trying to pull on his pants. 

"Mr. Pines, what's up?" Soos sounded cheerful as always to be talking to Stan. 

"Soos, I need your help. Ford and I have to... take care of some urgent business. I need you to come over and watch the kids tonight, they're already asleep, but I'm not sure how long we're going to be gone. Maybe until the morning." Stan spoke with a serious voice, but nothing malicious.“Don’t let anyone but me and Ford into the shack until we get back. And no matter what happens, no matter what I say and no matter what Ford says, if one of us comes back _alone_? _Don’t let them in._ ”

“You got it, Mr. Pines,” Soos said, before hanging up the phone.

Stan finished getting dressed, wearing worn out jeans, a white t-shirt, and managing to find his old red jacket. He hadn't touched it in years, but he still knew every stain, every hole, like the back of his hand. He knew well enough that this jacket had pockets big enough for a gun of this size and caliber, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to ask Ford for the holster. Thirty years on the other side of the portal had turned the man possessive as hell, and Stan was lucky enough to be trusted with the pistol in the first place. So he swallowed any bad memories associated with the faded jacket and slid it on. It fit surprisingly well, considering the fact that the last time he wore it was thirty odd years ago, and he could always rip off the sleeves if things got too intense and he needed to use his fists. Grimacing, he pocketed the gun. He also grabbed a flashlight, and retrieved his trusty old brass knuckles, just in case. He descended the stairwell and returned to the kitchen to look for Ford. The sooner they got this done, the better.

“Are you ready?” Ford asked, rifle strapped to his back and electric gloves over his hands. He was a little concerned that Stanley still had the same jacket he’d brought with him to Gravity Falls thirty years ago, though he wasn’t one to talk, considering that he’d kept his old trench coat.

"The kids are asleep, and Soos is on his way. I think we're good to go." Stan took his hands out of his jacket pockets and placed one on his hip. "Am I just following you? We could take the golf cart, Soos has fixed it up to be pretty speedy."

“We’re walking. And considering the fact that you don’t know where we’re going, you’re going to be following me. If we fail and the shapeshifter gets to the surface, I don’t want it getting to the Shack any faster than it normally would,” Ford said, turning to head out the door.

"Okay, but keep in mind I have a shop to run in the morning. I don't want to be up all night." Stan followed him out, and, _thank goodness,_ just as they left, Soos pulled up in the little driveway. _The kids will be fine,_ Stan had to repeat to himself. _Soos stood up to **me** to protect these kids, they’ll be fine, and-_

“... Wait did you just call it the _shack?_ ” Stan asked, snapping out of his mantra. A sly smile crept along Stanley's face. "You called your house 'the shack'!"

“No, I didn’t. You can’t prove that I did. Because I didn’t.” Ford jumped on the defensive, but Stanley was having none of it.

“You called it the shack! Ha ha! I can’t believe it!” Stanley laughed, slapping his knee.

“...Okay, fine. So what if I did. It’s not like the Mystery Shack thing you’ve got going is going to disappear at the end of summer, it just can’t be _in my house_. Right now we need to focus on finding the bunker, and doing it _quietly_.” Stanford had a tight grip on his rifle, ready to fire at any monsters that might come their way; trying to find his way in the woods was no easy task, but finding his way in the woods at _night_ was on a whole other level.

Stanley pulled out his flashlight and flicked the switch on, illuminating a very small portion of the sea of forest in front of them. "How far out is his thing, again?" He seemed a bit uneasy. He used to have the spirit of an adventurer, but old age and his brother's journal entries had diminished that part on himself.

“Not too far, just let me-- Stanley, could you turn that off for a second?” Ford continued only when Stan complied. “Okay, so let’s see if I remember this… It’s August...which means Virgo will be to the west...ish... meaning Draco should look like… and Ursa Minor is there, which means due North is in that direction. Okay, Stanley, you can turn the flashlight back on now.”

“Are you seriously using the fucking stars to navigate us? Just when I think you can't get any nerdier."

“...Earth’s life-sustaining properties occur in such a small range of possible timelines… Constellations are usually the same or at least similar from dimension to dimension.” Ford said after a moment. He went back to marking north in the dirt, and getting his bearings.

Stanley tried his hardest not to look impressed. But damn, that was some pretty cool science. "Well, alright then, we're headed north? Or do I need to turn my flashlight off again?"

“...Stanley if I know which way north is I can figure out which way the other directions are. We’re headed east, actually, which is this way.” Ford pointed to his right.

"I haven't been on any wilderness treks lately, Ford, go easy on me." Stanley tried not to show his embarrassment. He had learned the cardinal directions at one point in his life, but he never used them, not since he gave up on a life at sea.

“Sorry. I’m… distracted, trying to think of what I’m going to say if the shapeshifter’s not frozen. He’s basically my son. And I wasn’t the best father.”

"I thought you said this thing was a destructive monster, now you're saying it was your baby? ...That's pretty fucked up, Sixer," Stanley scoffed. Ford wasn't much of a brother, of course he wasn't going to be a good father.

“I watched it hatch, Stanley. I nursed the damn thing. And sure, his entire species might have a killer instinct ingrained in their psyche, but I still exposed him to…” Ford paused, remembering Bill, remembering what he’d done. No, he couldn’t tell Stanley, it’d make their relationship even worse if Stan knew he’d made a deal with the devil. “Something else I’d gotten involved with. He’d seemed okay before then, but after that… He started trying to kill me any way it knew how. I had a freaking identity crisis trying to care for this thing. At one point I was convinced that _I_ was the shapeshifter, and _he_ was Stanford Pines. Do you know how hard it is to make someone with an identical twin have an identity crisis like that?”

Stanley stopped in his tracks to listen to his brother. He had flipped through the journals he managed to get ahold of, but he never read anything explaining something this terrible. Nothing personal. "Ford, I had no idea. That's...that's really messed up. I'm sorry that happened. If I have to, I'll kill the fucker, but I'll go easy on it because it's your... your baby?"

“You can’t kill it, it regenerates. And even if you could, it’s my fault he wound up like this. His best shot is for me to cryogenically freeze it and hope I can figure out a way to reconcile with him.”

"It can't be all your fault, you said that being evil or whatever is in its genes right? You can't fix that, Ford, that's just nature."

“It kills other species to compete for resources, Stanley. That doesn’t make it evil. People will do the same thing if they’re desperate enough. I knew that from the moment it could speak.” Ford said, pausing to examine a pine tree. This one was real, with an advertisement for The Mystery Shack nailed to the trunk, but he was looking for a marker, one that had likely been moved in the last thirty years. “How long have we been walking, about ten minutes?”

“I’d say that’s about right. You better not be gettin’ us lost, Ford.” Stan said, narrowing his eyes and feeling the gun underneath the fabric of the jacket, just in case something supernatural decided to make a move towards two wayward travelers.

“Relax. We’re close.” Ford said, looking back up at the sky to get his bearings again. “Shine your light over there for a second.” He pointed off to the left. “I think it should be over here. I just need to get a good look.”

“Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on,” Stan said with a wave of his hand, and shone the flashlight over the woods. Ford climbed over a fallen log, grunting as he almost lost his footing, and knelt down next to what looked like a pine tree. Stanley held the flashlight between his teeth as he followed suit, wincing as he felt dozens of tiny splinters pierce his skin. The night air was suddenly filled with a metallic clanging sound, and it took Stanley a second to realize that it was coming from Ford’s direction.

“Alright, we’re here.” Ford stood up from where he had been crouched

"This is it? How are we supposed to get in?" Stanley looked over the seemingly normal tree. If this really was a secret entrance to a fallout shelter, it really _did_ do a good job of blending in.

“There’s a lever about a hundred feet up, I’ll have to climb it. You can just wait here,” Ford said, hands behind his back.

"Why don't you throw something up there instead? I don't know if you're going to make it all the way up there, old man."

“I’m more agile than you think. Besides, from this far down there wouldn’t be enough force behind a throw to jostle it in the right direction.” Ford said, unbuckling his belt and wrapping it around the trunk of the tree. “And a round from either of our guns would just destroy it.”

"Fine, enough science words, I'll just wait down here." Stan crossed his arms and leaned against another nearby tree, still on the watch for anything lurking in the woods that might cause them trouble.

“And shine your light this way so I can see what I’m doing, if you don’t mind,” Ford said as he began his climb. The flashlight wasn’t quite strong enough to illuminate the highest branches very well, but he really just needed to see where to put his feet. He already knew which branch would be the lever they needed and- “There!” Ford exclaimed as he grabbed the branch in question, pulling the lever and feeling the tree sink into the ground. “Alright, Stan! I’m coming down now. If I fall, make sure to put ‘took out President Quagmire in Dimension 854’ on my tombstone! They’ll know what it means.” 

Stan jumped back when the tree started moving and tried hard not to look impressed. "I don't think I want to know what that means." Watching his brother scale a tree still made Stanley worry, and once Stanford made it down, he let out a breath of relief.

“Alright, Stan, here’s the plan. There are three levels of security before we get to where the shapeshifter is presumably located. I’ll need you to guard the entrance at the bottom of this staircase. Don’t let anyone or anything out of there, not even an _insect_ , unless it’s me and unless I give you the… _ahem_ … signal we discussed earlier. I know how to get past all the security, so I’ll be the one actually going in. Got it?” Ford asked, readying his rifle.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it, go have fun in your death trap. I'll stand out here. But if you're in there too long, I'm gonna come and look for you." Stanley huffed, a little disappointed at his simple watchdog role.

Ford cocked the rifle and took a deep breath. “...Thank you, Stanley.” Ford knew that one or both of them could die tonight if he wasn’t careful. He knew exactly how important Stanley’s job was, even if Stanley himself hadn’t grasped the concept quite yet. Ford’s boots thunked against the wood as he descended the spiral staircase, followed by the softer taps of Stan’s loafers.

Stan almost didn't recognize the words ‘thank you’ coming from his brother. _Maybe I'm dealin' with the shapeshifter already._ Stanley paused for a good second before he responded with a quiet "You're welcome."

Ford paused at the bottom of the staircase, just outside the entrance. “Remember, not a _single living creature_ gets past this door. And please, don’t leave it unguarded, under any circumstances. If I’m not out in a half hour, there’s a switch on the wall behind you that hides the bunker. Flip it and _go get help_.” He knew his words were falling on deaf ears; Stanley had potentially caused the apocalypse on the off chance that he’d save Ford from a distant reality, he likely wasn’t going to think things through if he thought Ford had fallen prey to the shapeshifter. But if he didn’t at least _try_ to warn him, then what good would anyone see in their attempt should they fail tonight? Seeing his brother walking around in the same jacket he wore thirty years ago was reminding Ford exactly what could happen when Stanley Pines is put near a dangerous supernatural thing and not told what it does. He turned to go into the bunker, steeling his nerves to fight the shapeshifter if necessary.

Stanley heard his brother clearly, but he wasn't exactly listening. He was transfixed on some small symbols the flashlight had caught, carved into the side of the 'tree,' near the ground. He recognized these symbols, he had made the same ones in a time of need. _Good water...unsafe camp? Beware?_ The hobo scrawlings warned. Stanley ran his fingers over the writings, they felt as if they hadn't been there very long. "Hey, Ford? There's someone in there." Stanley called out, quickly grabbing the gun from his pocket and followed Ford into the bunker. Whoever was in there could be dangerous, especially if they've dealt with the monster. Dangerous, or dead.

Ford, meanwhile, was busy opening the hatch that led to the first security room. He perked up when he heard his brother’s footsteps getting closer. “Yes, Stanley, that’s why we’re here, now _stay out there_ and whatever you do, don’t follow me past this room, it’s the one that crushes you if you don’t know the right code.” Ford said. Whatever Stanley was on about, it would have to wait, he needed to be fast if he wanted to input the code before the heavy metal blocks crushed him. He barely registered the presence of a few candy wrappers from companies that hadn’t existed in 1982, but chalked them up to Mable’s handiwork. She and the other kids were down here a few weeks ago, after all.

“No, I mean a _person_ , dammit. Listen to me for once!” Stanley said, climbing through the hatch just as Ford was pressing the button. “Woah, what the fresh hell?” Stanley flinched away from the moving panels as one came down dangerously close to where his head had been.

“I told you, this room _crushes people!_ ” Ford yelled, grabbing Stanley’s wrist and pulling him towards the other end of the room, where the exit vault was. “Just, stay there and get ready to move, there’s no time to get you back on the other side.” Ford had to move quickly, he only had a minute and a half before the right symbols disappeared. _One… two… three...four!_ The hiss of the vault unlocking itself automatically was music to Ford’s ears as he ran for the exit, practically tackling Stanley on the way out.

“Ford what the fuck is wrong with you! Why in god’s name do you need a room that _crushes people?!"_ Stan was miffed enough that Ford wouldn't even listen to him, he had to make it worse by being a dangerous know it all, yet again!

“There is an incredibly dangerous, mostly immortal shapeshifter on the other side of that blast shield, Stanley, of _course_ I’m going to have a room that crushes people! Would you do it any different?” Ford adjusted his glasses, and moved towards the ancient control panels, checking the status on all the cryogenic chambers. Only one was on, and it _definitely_ had something in it.

“Holy shit, that looks just like _Dipper_.” Stanley was momentarily caught off guard. He’d expected the shapeshifter to be realistic and dangerous, but taking the form of his twelve year old nephew? _No wonder the kid doesn’t sleep well at night. He keeps poking his head in where it doesn’t belong._

“Holy shit indeed. He was probably counting on someone finding him and thinking that there was a child trapped in there.” Ford pressed a few buttons, checking the numbers appearing on a monitor against the ones he was working out in his head. “It looks like the gravity anomalies didn’t do any damage. I’ll still have to go in and tune up the chamber, but--”

“Stanford, someone is living in your bunker.” Stanley interrupted. “We need to either leave, or take care of it. This guy could be dangerous.” Stanley had dealt with plenty of territorial people during his years as a drifter. Homeless people will fight like maniacs to keep anything that they can call their own. Lord knows _he’s_ had to, on more than one occasion. “Remember what you were sayin’ about the shapeshifter killing other species for resources? An’ how people do the same thing when they’re desperate enough?”

“...What makes you so sure?” Ford asked, tensing up. Now that the main threat was out of the way, he’d had time to really go over what Stanley was saying. And those candy wrappers suddenly looked a lot more ominous.

“Yeesh, Ford, you’re telling me you know all those creepy ciphers and codes, but you’ve never seen a goddamn hobo sign?” Stanley said, double checking his gun to make sure it was still loaded. “So whaddya wanna do? Should we rough this guy up a bit for squatting where there’s paranormal bullshit? Or do we leave as quickly as possible and hope this guy doesn’t let that thing out?"

All of the sudden, a banging sound came from the metal closet at the far end of the room, and Stan and Ford both immediately pointed their guns in the direction of the noise.

“Whoever, or whatever you are, _freeze right now!_ ” Ford said, his voice booming against the rock walls of the bunker. Whatever it was, it most certainly did _not_ freeze. The next thing Ford knew, a flash of brown and white was flying towards him. He tried firing a round from his rifle, but the blur was too quick, and spindly arms had wrapped around the barrel of the gun, trying to wrestle it away from him.

“You no good shapshiftin’ varmit! I’ll hornswaggle that gun o’ yers outta yer hands real quick-like ‘fore I let ya aim it in _my_ direction! You’ve got another thing comin’ if you think the ends times can stop-”

“Old Man McGucket?” Stanley pointed his pistol upwards and signaled Stanford to do the same. What in the world was that kook doing down here? How the hell did he figure out all of the crazy security codes? "Its Stan Pines, McGucket, I'm not gonna hurt you!" He said, grabbing the smaller man by the overalls and prying him off of Stanford. He couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor old man; Stanley could very well have wound up just like Fiddleford if he hadn’t come to Gravity Falls to help Ford all those years ago. That, and, he could never allow Fiddleford McGucket to come to harm. Not after what he’d done for Stanley.

“...Wait... Fiddleford? Is that you?” Ford asked in a hushed voice, still on the ground, almost afraid to get up. _Of course he’d come here once he found out the portal was being reopened,_ Stanford thought to himself, _Fiddleford helped build this place, he’s the only other person who would have known about it._

“You can’t fool me, you slimy skinned devil! I know you’re not really Stanford!” McGucket was still in a frenzy, kicking and struggling against Stanley’s grip. “I’ve known Stanford Pines for thirty odd years, an’ he don’t have six fingers!”

“Alright, settle down you old fart. He’s not the shapeshifter.” Stanley said, lifting McGucket higher off the ground. “You’ve been talking to _me_ the past thirty years. I’m _Stanley_. I was posing as my brother, _Stanford_. The real Stanford Pines has six fingers, is a giant nerd, and stuck your head through an apocalypse portal that you erased from your memory somehow. We had this conversation back in ‘82, remember?” Stanley had known for decades that Fiddleford had access to some sort of mind altering technology, but he’d assumed that thirty years of madness had all been an act.

“Wait, Stanley, you _know_ him?” Ford asked, incredulous. “Surely he would have left town after… after erasing _me_ from his memory.”

“Hold on, fellas, I think I’m startin to remember what this gentleman is talkin’ about,” Fiddleford said, gesturing to Stanley. He’d stopped struggling, and simply hung from the taller man’s arm like he did this every day. He aimlessly tugged at the bandage on his beard. “I’ve been rememberin’ lotsa things lately.”

Stanley set the little man back down on his feet, and gave him a pat on the back. "Alright, McGucket, what do you remember? Why are you down here?"

“Well, Stanford-”

“ _Stanley._ ” Ford corrected.

“Sorry. _Stanley_ , them kids o’ yers came up to my spot at the dump--”

“You’ve been living in the _dump?!_ ” Ford asked, heartbroken. Fiddleford had been his best friend for years, he was a brilliant engineer, and he was always so kind. To think that he’d ever been homeless in his time of need.

“Sweet Moses, Ford. Let ‘im finish!”

“Dipper and Mabel came to the dump with a spooky lookin’ book. Somehow they got ahold of one of my computermajigs, an’ they thought that I was the feller what done wrote them journals.”

“One of your laptops used to be down here, the kids probably got their hands on it when they came down looking for me.” Ford added, hoping to add a little clarity to the situation.

“That’s what them kids were sayin’. I’d done told ‘em that I wasn’t the guy they were lookin’ fer, and somehow the Society of the Blind Eye came up. I’d been spooked, I tell ya, and the kids wanted to get to the bottom of it. We wound up in some real danger; those kids, an’ Soos n’ Wendy, they almost got roughed up by that darn cult. I pro’lly shouldn’t’ve let ‘em tag along, but I wanted to know what’d happened to me, even if it was bad. I’ve been gettin’ memories back left n’ right ever since, thanks to those kids. But somthin’ wasn’t piecing together right. I was sure, er, Stanley, was it? Was the one who’d up and reactivated the portal. But somethin’ was tuggin’ at the back of my mind, saying ‘the feller who runs the Mystery Shack ain’t the same feller what wrote them journals.’ But I was so sure that Stanford Pines was the author. I suppose I wasn’t entirely wrong. But what in tarnation possessed you to switch places like that?” Fiddleford was pacing back and forth, tugging at the brim of his worn out hat. “Anywho, the end times’ a comin’, so I’ve been holed up in here ever since the portal was done reactivated.”

Stanford couldn't believe this tale, that his once brilliant partner had driven himself to madness, or that Stanford himself had driven Fiddleford there. It hurt Stanford just to look at McGucket. Of course, he’d known that Fiddleford had invented a machine to erase bad memories. He’d been there when Fiddleford erased his memory of ‘Stanford Pines,’ for good. But total amnesia? That he hadn’t been prepared for.

“Well, seems like you’ve already got the gist of it. But, uh, I’ll fill ya in on the rest, okay?” Stanley said, taking in a deep breath. “... ‘Bout thirty years ago I get this postcard from Ford. Wanting me to come help him out with something. So of course, I go. Why the hell wouldn’t I? Turns out, he needs me to hide one of his spooky journals so his dumb machine doesn’t tear a hole in reality. One thing led to another, and Stanford fell through the portal… It was my fault I’d lost him, and I swore I’d do whatever it took to get him back. I’d been working on that machine for a few weeks, ‘til I ran out of food and had to start up the Mystery Shack. Under Stanford’s name, of course. People’d wonder what happened to Ford, it was easier to just let the old me die.” Ford winced at his brother’s wording, but Stanley continued. “Then one day, while business is slow, this old disheveled guy comes walking through the door. Said I was selling the devil’s wares and that he couldn’t allow me to corrupt the minds of the townsfolk. Real nerd, if you ask me. Called himself Fiddleford McGucket. Said he’d known me, er, Stanford, for years but he’d never thought I’d stoop this low. I tried to calm you down, but the second I tried to touch you, you jumped five feet in the air and aimed a gun with a fucking light bulb on the front at me. I almost laughed, but then you said that whatever I was, I wasn’t the Stanford Pines you’d worked with the past year. And of course, I got my fucking hopes up. I asked if you knew about the portal, how to work it. I told you what’d happened to the real Stanford, and explained that I was his twin brother, Stanley. I asked if you’d help me rebuild Stanford’s dumb machine. And you said no.” Stanley paused, trying to figure out how to tell the next part of his story. “You said the other side of that machine was something like hell itself, and that you couldn’t live with yourself knowing it would be reopened someday. You told me you made some kinda secret society for the express purpose of helping people get rid of their bad memories of the supernatural. You also said that no matter what happens, to not tell anyone that I knew about paranormal bullshit, and to not go around acting like I knew you. The next day I’m reading in the paper about how Fiddleford McGucket went totally nuts. Is that ringin’ any bells for you?”

“I suppose, though right now it’s your word against mine.” Fiddleford said. “Yer brother bein’ trapped in some kinda hellish nightmare realm for thirty years sounds like a pretty solid reason to cause the apocalypse. It’s stupid and I can’t believe you actually went through with it, but it’s a solid enough reason. Listen, fellers, I’m sure Stanford’s already told ya, but the end times are a comin’. There’s a bed closer to the surface, and enough beans and rice to last us an’ the kids a few decades. We might as well start hunkerin’ down.” Fiddleford said.

“McGucket, there is no ‘end times’ coming. It’s been a good two weeks since that portal opened up, and we’re all fine. Ford even set up a sci-fi nerd trap to keep whatever it is that’s been giving him trouble away from the shack. You don’t have to lock yourself down here with that creepy shapeshifter. Everything up there is just as normal as it always is.” Stanley used the term ‘normal’ loosely.

“Stanley’s right, Fiddleford. Right now, the safest place would be back at the house. Where there’s real food and more than one bed.” Ford said, his voice cracking a little. Up until now he’d stayed quiet, unable to think of anything he could say, anything he could do to help his friend. “...Fiddleford, what happened to you was _my_ fault, and I’m so _sorry_. I-If it’s safety you’re worried about, you’re more than welcome to come up to the Shack anytime you want. And if things get really bad, the bunker will still be here.” Ford tentatively reached out to his friend, grasping his shoulder only when he was certain that Fiddleford was unafraid. “The only reason there was even a portal to be activated in the first place was because I didn’t listen to you when I had the chance. Please, let me make it up to you, somehow.” A lightbulb went off in Ford’s head. “I can help you get back your memories! I have a machine for that express purpose! It’s… broken now, but I can fix it in a few days! Please, Fiddleford…” Stanford took Fiddleford’s casted hand in his own, his eyes pleaded for Fiddleford to remember what they once had. Stanford laced his six fingers with Fiddleford's boney ones and gave a gentle squeeze.

“...Well… I do believe I’m startin’ to recall ya, Stanford. Well, the Stanford that is actually _you_ , that is. But I couldn’t possibly… I don’t have nothin’ to offer you in return-”

"You don't have to worry about giving us anything, alright? The kids love you, and we have plenty of space. Maybe take a bath or something while you're here." Stanley suggested, trying to have some tact.

“But I-- Woah!” Fiddleford tried to protest, but was cut short by Stanley lifting him up by his overalls again.

“Yeesh, you southern types are stubborn about manners. Look, take it from me, worrying about paying people back is only gonna bite you in the butt. Living in the same room as that creepy shapeshifter’s got you paranoid enough. At least stay at the Shack until we can get this whole thing sorted out, alright?” Stanley paused, tucking the small man under his arm. “You’re really light, like lifting a baby goat, you know that?”

“Stanley! You can’t just kidnap him!” Stanford said, scrambling to his feet.

“Too late! I’ve made my decision. It’s late, and I don’t feel like staying out any longer than I have to.” Stanley said, walking towards the exit. “Now, how’s about you let us out of this dump so I can get some shut eye?” Stan said. Ford simply stared at the sight before him, dumbfounded.

Stanley practically threw McGucket over his shoulder, alarmed at how much he was lighter than Dipper and Mabel, he didn’t even pop anything. “Well, Ford? Lead the way! McGucket, is there anything you need to take with ya?"

“Well, my raccoon wife done skedaddled a few days ago, but I should probably grab the laptop. It should be over in that box yonder.” Fiddleford said, adjusting the brim of his hat so it wouldn’t fall.

“I’ll grab it and we can head home,” Ford said, rummaging through the crate Fiddleford had mentioned and grabbing the laptop. “Wait...Did you say _raccoon wife_?”

"Diane, right? Or was it Racoonifer? I’m tellin ya, Ford, She's quite the looker" Stanley teased, not realizing just how messed up crazy old man McGucket was compared to his former brilliant self. “At least a raccoon is an actual living thing. I got married to a mechanical prospecter (that may or may not be secretly alive) in Las Vegas.”

“...Wait, did you do that under _my name_ , or _yours_?” Ford asked, pulling a lever to raise the panels in the security room so they could leave.

“Don’t worry, the marriage got annulled. I think.” Stanley said, stepping through the vault, carefully eyeing the strange symbols on the walls.

McGucket held onto Stanley like a small child getting a piggyback ride. He trembled a little as they approached the real world; the forest at night was one hell of a place to be. “An’ yer sure this is alright? I don’ mind stayin’ in the bunker none.”

“Fiddleford, frankly, I’m more concerned about the _raccoon wife_.” Stanford said, still cross.

“Oh, hush now. We only got hitched fer the tax benefits. Her leavin’ don’ bother me none. Taxes might not even matter soon anyways.”

“...I shouldn’t have that marriage certificate annulled. Tax benefits why didn’t I think of that?” Stan said, crunching numbers in his head to work out exactly how much money he could have saved, if he’d actually ever paid his taxes.  Stanley's calculations took up a good amount of their walk back to the Mystery Shack. Thankfully, they had only been out a half hour or so, leaving Stanley with plenty of time to get his beauty rest.

“Soos!” Stanley said, banging on the front door. “It’s us, can you let us in?”

"I don't know, dude, how many of there are you?" Soos’ voice carried through the heavy oak, and Stanley caught a glimpse of his employee’s hat from the other side of the window.

“It’s me, Stanley, and Fiddleford McGucket. We found him in the bunker, he’s my old college friend. The shapeshifter is secure, Soos.” Stanford said. He stepped back as he heard the sound of the deadbolt unlocking. He didn’t have time to brace himself as a broom smacked himself in the face. 

“Kill it! Kill it with fire!” Soos yelled, having done the impossible and caught Ford by surprise. “Mr. Pines said not to let anyone in unless it was just him and the other Mr. Pines!” Ford’s fight or flight response kicked in then, and he grabbed the broom, using his knee to snap it in two. He twirled one piece of the broken broom around in his left hand, and tried using the splintered end as a chiv.

“Soos! Calm down, it’s us, no one is the shapeshifter!” Stanley cried, trying his best to wedge himself between the two. “Ford, relax he’s just doing what I told him!” Stanley regretted not wording that better, because that sentence earned him a panic-induced punch in the face from Ford, hard enough to send him flat on his butt. Meanwhile, Fiddleford had scuttled up to the awning above the porch, a safe distance from all the fighting.

Soos scrambled for some other sort of weapon **.** He settled for he screwdriver in his pocket, and his fists. He pointed the flathead screwdriver towards Stanley’s neck, whom he had pinned on the ground and whose ribs were nearly buckling under the pressure of the handyman’s knee, and used his other arm to lock a struggling Ford in a chokehold. "You have to prove it! Mr. Pines, what did the birthday card I gave you last year say?!"

“Soos, drop Ford. The more panicked he gets the more of an itchy trigger finger he’ll have when he gets free!” Stanley yelled, eyeing the rifle strapped to Ford’s back. With Ford, it was never a matter of ‘if’ in a fight. Not anymore.

“That doesn’t sound like something Hallmark would write, dude.” Soos said, pressing the screwdriver harder into his neck. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he struggled against Ford’s superior fighting skills, and he winced when Ford tried to elbow him in the stomach hard enough to get away.

"It was a puppy dog saying 'Happy Bark Day!' And you wrote, 'Happy old guy birthday, Love, Soos!' Now let him go!” Soos’ response was immediate, and Ford practically vaulted away from the man, gasping for breath, immediately reaching for his gun. He’d almost taken aim at Soos, before he managed to calm himself down enough to simply drop the weapon and hurry inside, making sure to grab Fiddleford from the awning before he went in, earning a yelp from the old hillbilly. The screwdriver clattered against the wooden porch, and only the sound of the two men panting could be heard outside.

“Sorry, Mr. Pines,” Soos said once he caught his breath.

“Don’t be, you were doing your job. But do me a favor? In the future, if you see something that looks like Ford? Play it safe and don’t try to fight it. He’s not quite as good as me, but something in his brain won’t let him remember when to pull his punches. And that’s a dangerous kind of guy to pick a fight with.” Stanley said, pushing himself up. Soos still seemed a little disappointed, afraid he had done the wrong thing. Stanley gave Soos an affectionate pat on the shoulder and said simply, “You did good, Soos. Thanks. I can always count on you to protect those kids.”

Soos smiled with his goofy buck teeth and picked up the mess he made, collecting the shards of broom handle, despite the splinters. “Do you need me to stay, Mr. Pines? I can get this all cleaned up in no time.”

“Nah, it’s getting late, you goofball.” Stan paused. “I’m already adding the past half hour to your pay, don’t push it.” He said. Ten years of not letting Soos get too close had taken their toll, but after everything that had happened this summer, Stanley was convinced that Soos knew that he meant no harm whenever Stan tried to push him away.

Soos gave Stan a salute, nearly missing his eye, and walked back inside to fetch the keys to his old pickup truck, “Whatever you say, Mr.Pines!” Soos knew well that Stan wasn’t a man who liked to get emotional, but Soos did his best to be there for Stan in any way he could, to show his appreciation for the old man doing the same since he was a kid. Soos checked up on the kids one last time before returning outside, waving to Stan, and driving away. Stanley stayed out on the front porch until he could no longer see the taillights of Soos’ beat up truck. Giving a faint smile, he turned around and finally went back inside, being sure to lock the door behind him. On his way back to his room, however, he did take note of one thing. It seemed like Soos did a little cleaning while he was there, the living room looks spotless, and the kitchen too. _Eh, maybe I’ll give him the full hour extra this week. With all he’s done around here, the kid deserves it._

Stanley yawned, his old age had really taken the party animal out of him, and dragged himself to the linen closet to grab a blanket for McGucket, who was already curled up on the couch in the living room. Knowing Ford, the only reason his old pal wasn’t sleeping in a proper bed was that Stanford was too freaked out to argue. Once their houseguest had been taken care of, Stanley crept towards his bedroom to disrobe and prepare for bed. On the way there, Stanley stopped by the 'spare' room that Stanford had taken as his bedroom, just to make sure he wasn't still freaking out about the encounter with Soos. _Bingo,_ Stanley thought to himself as he saw his brother’s slumped form on the couch. The dark room was silent, save for Ford’s labored breathing.

“...Stanford?” Stanley asked quietly, not wanting to startle his estranged brother.

“Is Soos alright?” Ford asked curtly. He had his own method of dealing with things, and adding new people to talk to wasn’t a part of how he coped, but he had to make sure.

“He’s fine. You didn’t hurt him. Bruised him, maybe, but nothing permanent.”

“Are you alright, Stanley?” Ford asked, trying to remind himself that he was in Gravity Falls, not some far off and dangerous new world. 

“M’fine, your punches didn’t hurt as much this time around. You’re really off your game.” Stanley joked, slowly taking a step closer. He could barely make out Ford’s shaking hands clutching his knees.

“Please, just leave me alone, Stan.” Stan stiffened, it broke his heart to see his brother like this, but it had been so long. He let out a noncommittal grunt, and slowly turned to leave.

“...Alright. Good night, Sixer." Stan left his brother to brood, knowing a little bit of rest would bring him back to... not exactly normal, but better. He didn’t quite catch the quiet ‘ _please don’t call me that’_ that escaped Ford’s lips.


	2. Cold Nights, Warm Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6-15-18-4'19 2-5-5-14 20-15 13-1-18-2-21-18-25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets more than a little graphic. Just as a forewarning.

“Will you stop tryin’ to cook for all of us? I’m the only one in this house that knows what the kids will actually eat, and I can guarantee you it’s not eggs and _brains._ ” Stanley said, growing impatient with Fiddleford, who was busy cracking eggs into a bowl. Fiddleford had already made a mess of quite a few pans, and was attempting to make omelets, but they were turning out like questionably scrambled eggs. The light of the sunrise had just barely begun to peek into the kitchen.

Meanwhile, Ford was in his room, wishing the metal plate in his head did anything for nightmares.

_Ford was running as fast as his feet could carry him. He felt the crunch of dead flies underneath his boots, smelt their blood as it oozed out of their cracked exoskeletons. Heart pounding in his chest, the dark scaly creatures behind him were gaining ground. He was younger, more frightened, and the creatures were just dying to sink their teeth into his flesh. Dear God, Stanford could already smell it rotting away, like fish bones, forgotten once the monsters had their fill._

**_Squish._ **

_His foot sunk further into the ground that time, breaching the shells of the dead flies and coming up with the maggots from underneath._

**_Squish._ **

_It happened again. The ground itself seemed to writhe and twitch, aiming to swallow him whole. His head throbbed, and he felt blood dribble down his cheek. Something wasn’t right, he should be lucid by now, he should be waking up **something’s in here with him**._

“I’ll cook for ya, it’s the least I could do for lettin’ me stay here.” McGucket said simply. “And, ‘sides, you don’t have any chicken brains for me to cook with, so you don’ haf’ta worry ‘bout them kiddos turnin’ up their noses.” The morning sun was just barely peeking over the horizon, and Stanley was ready to strangle the southerner in front of him.

“Listen, pal, I’m the only one who cooks around here, it’s my house!” Stanley paused, furrowing his brow. “Well, it’s Stanford’s house technically, but I pay the bills around here so it might as well be mine!”

_Eyes, eyes, too many eyes, watching him, tracking him from every direction **he knows where you are, he can see you, control you like the filthy puppet you are--**_

_“Get out of here! Leave me alone!” Six fingered hands tore at the scars on his scalp, still healing, he was dreaming he was supposed to be older, wake up wake up **wake up**. He clenched his fists harder, trying to regain control of his dreams. **Six fingered freak chop them off chop them off chop them off.** His feet were still falling, growing roots among the maggots, sinking in the filth. Why wasn’t anything working he should have complete control he **needed complete control.**_

“Sweet sarsaparilla!” Fiddleford screamed, grasping for the fire extinguisher. “Who keeps somethin’ this _flammable_ in their kitchen?!” He pulled the pin, aiming for the pan on the stove that Stanley was trying to smother with a potholder.

“It’s alcohol, for taxidermy, I forgot I’d put it there, I’m sorry okay! Just help me!” Stanley shouted, giving up on the potholder and filling a cup with water from the sink, hoping to put it out the old fashioned way.

 _Something was burning, he could hear voices, whose voices? Was it Stan? Oh god it was Stan he was here he can’t be here. No, something’s not right Stan was back in Gravity Falls, the timeline’s all wrong, **you’re dreaming**_ **,** _wake up wake up wake up._

**_Thunk._ **

_His feet fell through the sea of dead flies and maggots and Ford came tumbling towards the ground face first. Ford put his hands in front of his face as the rest of his body sunk below the churning sea of fly corpses._

Fiddleford hollered at the top of his lungs as he finally got the darned fire contraption to work, spraying white foam all over the Pines' kitchen, making an utter mess of his 'breakfast'.

_His hands had sunk deep into someone’s ribcage. He could feel the bones crunching beneath his weight, bits of organs oozing through the spaces between his fingers. He couldn’t bring himself to try and identify the corpse. He knew it would be something horrible, someone he knew, it could be Stan. It was usually Stan. You’re dreaming. Ford began to convulse, his ears were deafened by the sounds of the infinite multiverse, and bits of the corpse’s skin were rotting right off the bone and melting away, and he was falling again, and you killed him, you killed them, **you’ll kill them all one day. Your world will burn, and you will watch it burn, and then you will burn too.**_

_Stars. The first thing he registered was the stars. Giant, swirling, too bright, too **big, and you’re so small.** Oh no, he was **here** again, he recognized the ancient scrolls and texts, but no that’s impossible it’s just a dream it can’t be the mindscape, he can’t be here, it’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real. He’s going to control you again, he’s going to take advantage of you again, violate your trust and your soul, you’ve got to wake up! You filthy pathetic insignificant-- you deserve this, you deserve this, you deserve this. Winds carrying noxious fumes roared in the space around him, and he felt the flesh strip from his bones as he dissolved into nothing, and there was nothing, and he was nothing. The weight of the universe was on his shoulders, and the weight of the universe **was delighted to tear him apart, rip him to shreds, destroy him, destroy him, destroy him.**_

**_Well, well, well, well, well, well._ **

**_Let me go, let me go, let me go._ **

Dipper and Mabel rushed down from their attic, the sounds of panic woke them from their peaceful dreams. Mabel came armed, her crossbow in one hand, and her brother his behind her.

"Grunkle Stan! What the heck is going on?!" Dipper squeaked.

Fiddleford was covered in the extinguisher foam, and his form was hard to make out. Mabel pointed her weapon in the foamy guy's direction. "Is this some sort of breakfast monster?! GET AWAY FROM MY GRUNKLE, I'LL SHOOT!"

_**Mabel.** _

_Mabel wasn’t born yet Mabel didn’t exist, the scars had healed, he was old, he was back in Gravity Falls, this wasn’t real, this was a dream, wake up, wake up, **wake** **up!**_

Ford’s eyes flew open and he scrambled to get off of the couch. He was hyperventilating, badly, his knees felt like jelly and he felt like he was going to pass out again, but he’d been lucid enough during his nightmare to work out that he was awake now, that Bill Cipher hadn’t gotten through to this world, and that no one was in danger. He clutched his trench coat closed around him, steadied himself against the arm of the couch, reminded himself to do something nice for Mabel later that day, and took a deep breath.

Something was burning. Hadn’t Mabel screamed?

_Shit._

By the time Ford followed his nose to the source of the burning, the danger seemed to have disappeared. There was foamy, smoky, disgusting mess on the stove, and both of the twins were laughing at Old Man McGucket, who looked like he was all beard and foam. Dipper threw a towel to McGucket to help him clean up, and Mabel had lowered her crossbow to console her frightened pet pig who was squealing with anxiety from all of the commotion. Dipper piped up, taking in all of the mess, "Grunkle Stan, can we go to the diner for breakfast?"

Stan, however, wasn’t paying attention to Dipper. For once. He wasn’t even paying attention to getting the extinguisher foam off the stove before it got into the pipes and made even more of a mess. No, he’d heard Ford’s boots from across the hall, and looked up just in time to take in his brother’s disheveled appearance. His hair was sticking up more than usual, his trench coat was matted and wrinkled on one side, the bags under his eyes were worse than usual, and his trembling hands were not lost on Stanley. The closer the end of summer got, the less worried about social situations Stanford got, but a cursory glance at the man told Stanley that Ford likely wouldn’t be setting foot outside the Shack today. And he wasn’t the only one to notice.

“Grunkle Ford, you look awfully sleepy! We didn't mean to wake you up!"  Mabel's sweet voice filled the now quiet kitchen, and she slowly approached him. "It was just a little kitchen fire, you can go back to bed if you want, everything's okay! We just need to give breakfast another try." Mabel was like a little glittering ray of sunshine amidst the chaotic kitchen, pink pig slippers squeaking against the floor as she grabbed Ford’s hand to lead him back to his room. And suddenly Ford was on his knees, hugging Mabel for dear life. He didn’t say anything, he couldn’t spell out the horrors he’d witnessed to this little girl, but he hoped the message got through.

Although Mabel's Grunkle Ford was a little smelly (like sweat and old people) from a restless night, she hugged back with all her might, her tiny hands patting him on the back. She's had bad dreams quite a few times this summer, and though they weren't this terrifying, she could tell her uncle had a pretty bad night.

“Alright, kids, looks like a home cooked breakfast is a no go…” Stan said, digging through one of the drawers in the kitchen. “So how’s about we just order pizza instead? Have it delivered, so we can clean up this mess.” Stanley held up a flyer for a local pizza shop, complete with a coupon that he’d have to change the expiration date on if he wanted to use.

Mabel pulled away from her Grunkle and gave him one last pat on the shoulder. "What do you say, Grunkle Ford? It's never too early for pizza!"

Dipper joined in, giving Ford a soft little bro-punch on the arm. "I second that!

“Kids, I have spent the past thirty years eating whatever vaguely non poisonous _thing_ I could get my hands on. Pizza sounds _delicious._ ” Ford said, giving the kids a little smile.

Fiddleford stood in the corner of the kitchen, his head hung in embarrassment. Stanley might have set the fire, but he’d been the one to make a mess. It was bad enough he was burdening the Pines by sleeping in their living room, but messing up their kitchen too made McGucket feel terrible. His memories came to him in minuscule pieces, and having someone he remembered respecting so highly see him in this condition was downright shameful.

“Hey, thanks for getting that. Uh, let’s just say I’ve got bad luck with fire.” Stanley said, placing a meaty hand across Fiddleford’s shoulders. “Pizza sound alright to you?” When Fiddleford didn’t respond, Stanley said in a softer voice, praying that Ford wouldn’t hear, “Ford looks like he had a rough night, we probably won’t be able to get him to leave the Shack. If you want something else, I’ll find something else, but…”

"No, no, don't y'all be worrin' 'bout me! I done stashed a couple'a cans of beans for just this sitch'i'ation." Fiddleford pulled a dented and very old can of Colonel Num Nums Brand Baked Beans from his loose overalls pocket. "I'll throw these over a fire and get to cleanin up this here mess, you folks enjoy your pizzer!"

“Fiddleford, take it from a guy who’s been living in the wilderness for a few decades, you’ve gotta get some variety in your diet. You can’t eat nothing but baked beans all the time. Even if they are the best brand on the market.” Ford said, remembering the taste of the beans fondly. Given the age of the can, the beans were likely the only food from before Ford went through the portal that still tasted the same.

Something about the way Ford said that made a scene flash through Fiddleford's mind like lightning, _A cold night in the bunker, you're sharing a tiny cot and a pillowy quilt with an intelligent and striking young man. A can or two of those beans litter the floor. He laughs with you, a booming and hearty chuckle. The record is skipping and you don't care.You're shivering, but his big hands are welcoming and warm, his doe eyes are absolutely deep and dreamy, not to mention his lips..._ The old hillbilly stared into space for a while before shaking his head and smiling a nearly toothless smile, "I guess yer right...Stanford?" He's not too sure of this man's name yet, but he feels close.

“Alright, we’re getting two pepperoni pizzas. No extra toppings, no stuffed crust. I’m not made of money.” Stan said, walking to the living room to get to the phone. Mabel was glancing between Fiddleford and Stanford, before her eyes opened wide and she grabbed Dipper’s wrist.

“Well, Dippin’ Dots and I should go brush our teeth! Dental care is important!” She practically screamed as she pulled Dipper up the stairs, leaving the two scientists alone.

Fiddleford was practically against a wall, still staring up at this ridiculously handsome old man in front of him. "Remind me, Stanford...how do I know ya?" His twangy voice almost whispered, feeling flustered and a little confused.

Stanford's heart was on the verge of breaking. That morning's events had already bled him dry, and now his former research assistant, his college buddy, his old flame, was a completely different person. Were the things Fiddleford witnessed really worth all of the self-inflicted damage? Worse, had the effects really been the result of trying to erase _Ford_ from his memories? Ford made a mental note to get to work on fixing his memory restoring device ASAP. "You and I attended Backupsmore University together, and you helped me with my research endeavors many years ago. It'll all come back to you soon, I promise you." He chose to leave out the fact that Fiddleford had been his only friend for years, that he’d been the only good thing about Backupsmore University, that the reason Fiddleford was like this now was definitely, directly Ford’s fault, and that once Fiddleford got his  memories back he’d likely want nothing to do with Ford. As convinced as he was that he’d only be a toxic influence in Fiddleford’s life, Ford also knew that he was the only one able to really help him. With this dimension’s two smartest minds lost in other worlds and drowned by madness, technology hadn’t exactly made the leaps and bounds Ford had expected to find when he stepped through the portal. The broken mind scanning device was Fiddleford’s only hope.

Fiddleford looked pretty happy to hear that he attended college. Sometimes the poor guy didn't feel too smart, not too many people took him seriously. A brilliant mind still resided in McGucket’s head, but he got no recognition for it. "Well, I reckon you an' I are pretty smart fellas. Maybe you _can_ help me fix this here ol noggin, I've been workin real hard, but sometimes I get stuck." He'd watched the vial of memories form the Society of the Blind Eye multiple times, and Dipper gave McGucket the memory gun back, but only once he'd promised to try and reverse its effects.

Slowly, like walking on eggshells, Ford moved closer to his old friend. “We’ll get through this, together.” He said, quietly. “You’re brilliant, and I don’t think that part of you went away. Soon you’ll have all your memories back.” _And then you’ll want to forget about me._ The wheels in Ford’s brain were turning, a mile a minute, replaying last night’s events, trying to work out a solution. “Wait, where did you sleep last night, Fidds--Fiddleford?” He knew he’d been the one to bring Fiddleford in, but in his panic he’d forgotten to actually find his friend a bed.

"Yer lookalike let me borrow that squishy couch over yonder, I slept like a baby! I could really get used to that fancy sleepin’ arrangement.” Fiddleford said, gesturing towards the living room, where Stanley was trying to haggle with the clerk on the other end of the phone line.

 "What kind of hack charges two bucks for a few pieces of pepperoni?! Yeah? Well you’re a bigger one!"

Guilt crept up Ford’s throat, thick and slimy; Fiddleford shouldn’t have had to sleep on the small couch in the living room last night. What had Stan been thinking? What had _Ford_ been thinking? “There’s another couch in the spare room. It’s not exactly a bed, the only spare beds are being used by the twins, but it’s better than that old thing in the living room. It’s bigger, too. You can have a room all to yourself and sleeping there isn’t too bad.” Ford said, a little too quickly. _You’ll sleep fine as long as you’re not me_. “There’s already a blanket and pillow in there, please I can’t make you sleep down in the living room.”

Fiddleford shook his head and looked down at his beard. “Oh, you hush now. I don’ mind none. ‘Sides, where will you sleep if I’m on yer other couch? You look a lil too tall to be sleepin’ on that ol’ thing yonder.” Fiddleford said, tugging at the bandage on his arm.

“I’ll just sleep on the floor or something down in the basement. It’ll be fine, I promise.” Ford said.

Upstairs, Mabel and Dipper hid in the bathroom, brushing their teeth. "Mabel, don't you think 5 minutes of brushing is enough? My gums hurt." Dipper said through a minty froth. “What’s going on?”

"Dipper, are you really that blind? Romance is afoot! Did you see they way Old Man Mcgucket looked at Grunkle Ford?! And the way Grunkle Ford was looking at him?! They totally had a _thing!_ "

“Uh, no? Look, Mabel, even if they did have a thing, McGucket forgot all about it. He completely erased Ford from his memory, people don’t just do that for no reason. People break up, Mabel, and it’s probably better if Ford and McGucket _stay_ broken up.” Dipper said.

"But Dipper, It's so tragic, so romantic! Maybe if McGucket gets his memories back, they'll fall in love all over again! WE COULD HAVE THREE GRUNKLES! I COULD BE A FLOWER GIRL, DIPPER." Mabel exclaimed, flinging toothpaste onto the mirror. It was quite easy for Mabel to get carried away. She was quite the sucker for sappy romance, and in the end, she wanted her Great Uncle Ford to be happy.

“Look, Mabel… Um…” Dipper started, putting his toothbrush away, a little thankful that Mabel wasn’t forcing him to keep brushing anymore. “I think if they did have something… then McGucket left because of Ford’s secret history with Bill.”

“You… actually got him to tell you? And you didn’t tell _me?_ ” Mabel asked, shocked and a little hurt.

“I didn’t tell you because it’s… really personal. The only reason Grunkle Ford even told me was because I thought he was _possessed_. He started walking towards me a-and I don’t know what came over me. I felt like I was _dying_ , and all I could think of was watching you fall from that cake prop. I almost erased Ford’s memory!” Dipper was shaking a little, tugging at his vest. “Ford told me about his past with Bill, it’s just like we thought. They used to be friends and then something happened. But I don’t wanna tell you until _Ford’s_ ready to, okay? It’s… It’s not good, Mabel."

Mabel nodded, a little disappointed, and definitely worried. "Oh man...that's really heavy. Dipper, do you think he is going to be okay? He looked so scared this morning. I think he's been having crazy nightmares, or _something_. I don't know how to make him feel better, I've already gone through all of my science themed stickers!"

“I think it’s another one of those things that goes beyond anything we know how to fix.” Dipper said. “And even if we could fix it, there’s not a lot of summer left. We should probably just leave them be.”

Mabel spit out her toothpaste and rinsed. "I guess you're right, but I'm still rooting for the two of them." Mabel placed her toothbrush in its little holster. "Now, go away, I have a business meeting with Mr. Porcelain, you're not gonna want to stick around for that. Trust me." Mabel pushed her brother out of the bathroom while laughing at her own joke.

“Dipper! Can you come down here for a second?” Stanley’s voice boomed through the house, making Dipper jump a little bit. He straightened his hat and walked down the stairs, being careful to skip over the broken one.

“Yes, Grunkle Stan?” Dipper said once he got to the living room. Stanley was leaning against the dinosaur head turned nightstand, folding the blanket that Fiddleford had used last night.

“Kid, I need you to show McGucket around. Go ahead and tell him about the basement, just make sure to let him know to not go down there unless Ford’s down there. I’m gonna go see what I can do about the stove before the pizza gets here.” Stan said, scratching his ear. “Oh, and will ya put this up in wherever McGucket is staying? He slept in the living room last night but that’ll probably change.” Stan tossed the blanket at Dipper’s head.

“Um, okay, but… Why is McGucket staying here? Did something happen?” Dipper asked, just barely catching the blanket before it hit the ground.

"He was squatting down in that bunker, and Ford and I aren't going to make him stay there. Please, just do this for your old Grunkle.” Stan said, rubbing his temples. Dipper gave a little nod.

“Okay, Grunkle Stan. I'll take care of it." Dipper said, heading into the kitchen to get McGucket.

Mabel came down stairs in one of her favorite sweater creations: miles of rainbow yarn had been sacrificed when she made it. "What's going on, family? What's the plan for the day?"

“How’s about you go figure out a room for McGucket to stay in, while we wait for the pizza to get here?” Stan said. “I’ll call you when it gets here, don’t worry.” Dipper walked back through the living room, Fiddleford in tow, ready to grab Mabel and get started.

"We're on it, Grunkle Stan!" Mabel replied cheerfully and dragged Dipper by his hand, who was dragging Fiddleford, through the house. "Alright, if we're having a houseguest, we have to make him feel welcome! Were going to need fluffy towels and complimentary pillow mints, STAT!"

“Well I do appreciate it, kids,” Fiddleford said, being tugged along as fast as his old knees would allow. “But, really, I’m fine just a'stayin’ in the--”

“No time to argue, Mr. Old Man McGucket!” Mabel decreed, pointing her finger in the air. She said something else, something about calling Soos, but Stanley was no longer paying attention. He was headed back towards the kitchen, hoping to catch Ford before he holed himself up down in the basement all day.

“Stanford? You doin’ alright there?” Stanley asked. Stanford had soaked a hand towel with water, and was trying to wash away the extinguisher foam.

“I’m sorry.” Ford said, simply. 

"Sorry for what exactly?" Stan could make a long list of things his brother should apologize for.

“About last night. I shouldn’t have attacked Soos, I shouldn’t have punched you, and I shouldn’t have put you in danger by dragging you to the bunker. I should have just trusted Mabel when she said the shapeshifter was secure. The only good thing that happened last night was that I got to see Fiddleford again.” Ford’s hands clenched, pretending he was trying to get out a tough patch of foam. “You could’ve gotten hurt, and I should have been more careful. I’m sorry.”

"Ford, you had to do what you had to do. I don't blame you for defending yourself, I know whatever you went through on the other side of that damn portal really messed you up." Stanley approached Ford slowly and gently placed his hand on Ford's shoulder, feeling the muscles beneath tense. "I know what it’s like to come out of a bad situation with more shi-- stuff to deal with than you had before. Few years ago? I would have done the same thing in your situation. I've had to do some pretty awful stuff to defend myself in the past. If it’d been you against the kids, that’d be another story, but I know Soos can handle himself, and I know _I_ can handle myself.”

It was dangerous to rely on Stanley, to rely on anyone, Ford knew. But knowing that Stanley had even the faintest idea of what Ford was going through gave him a small comfort that he couldn’t help but latch onto. “Did it ever get better for you? After it was over?” Ford’s voice was barely above a whisper. He wouldn’t have minded if Stanley hadn’t heard the question at all.

"Yeah. I guess it did, in a way. I can't tell you I don’t still get bad days. But it’s not like how it used to be. I don’t keep a duffel packed anymore, I know I’m not homeless and that I’m not going to become homeless again. And now I know I’ve got a family again, and lemme tell ya, that helps a lot. Havin’ people who care about you. You just have to trust that people really do want what's best for you."  Stanley tightened his grip when he could see Ford trembling.

Ford was silent. He couldn’t think of anything to say that would suffice. Letting Stanley in was dangerous, and had only ever gotten him hurt. But what Stan was saying actually made him feel a little better. Hell, for all Ford knew, there was some sort of new phrase or gesture that was exactly what he needed to tell Stan that had been used in this dimension for decades, and was inaccessible to Ford simply because he’d missed it. What little he _did_ remember about the way society worked wasn’t helping. So Ford just leaned in to Stanley’s hand, remaining silent.

"So, I guess, apology accepted? Don't be afraid to punch harder next time." Stanley tried to chuckle, but it came out very forced. "And thanks for tryin’ to clean up my mess."

Ford took a deep, shaky breath. “...Is Soos coming in today? I need to apologize to him as well.”

"Yeah, he'll be here in about an hour. I'll let him know you wanna talk to him." Stanley wouldn't make his brother walk through the tourist filled gift shop to talk to Soos, the social anxiety would be almost as bad as pushing him through another portal. “Just make sure to stick around upstairs for a little while longer, okay?”

“I... I will.” Ford sighed. “And Stan, about Fiddleford… When he gets his memories back, he’s not going to want anything to do with me. I’m worried that he might do something drastic when that happens. I know I said I wanted you out of the house, but he seems to _like_ you. And you didn’t ruin his life, so he’d listen to you. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, but when Fiddleford leaves, if _you’re here too,_ then he might not get as self destructive as he did the last time. If it’s just me… I don’t know how I’d--” Ford sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can keep the Shack running if you want, I’ll stay out of your hair. I’ll likely be working on a way to restore Fiddleford’s memories day and night, anyways. I know our relationship isn’t what it used to be, but if you’d stick around, for Fiddleford’s sake at least...”

"You want me to stay?" When Ford gave a curt nod, Stanley felt a wave of relief, followed by a wave of sadness. He'd hoped to be reunited with his brother in a way that didn't involve a third party. But knowing that Stanley has a purpose to stay here feels good. Of course he'd keep running the Shack, someone would have to make the money to keep this place up and running. "Of course I'm gonna stay. Someone is going to have to make sure the bills get paid and that you two old nerds actually eat."

Ford opened his mouth to thank Stanley, but was interrupted by the doorbell ringing, followed by a sharp knock.

“...Must be the pizza.” Stan said.

When the pizza arrived, the kids crowded excitedly around Grunkle Stan, who paid for the pizza with hesitation. _Maybe if I take it and lock the door, we'll have free pizza...but the kids like that place, and I don't want to get banned from another restaurant they like. And lord knows the poor sap who got stuck delivering the damn things will get fired for it, or worse_ _._ He handed over the cash and sighed as brought the pizza to the dining table, where the kids and McGucket chanted "PIZZA, PIZZA, PIZZA!” Ford stood off to the side, still shaken from the morning’s events, but at least he seemed to be doing a little better. He was paying careful attention to how Stanley put the boxes on the table, and how the kids grabbed their slices, what size slice everyone got, what side they ate from, anything that would give him a clue so he wouldn’t slip up and offend anyone. He hated feeling like a foreigner in his own home, but he couldn’t always shake the feeling that he was missing something.

 “Oh, good, you still eat it with your hands.” Ford remarked, once everyone had taken their first bites.

Mabel laughed a little, until she realized he was serious. "Don't worry Grunkle Ford, I don't think pizza is ever going to change!" Mabel giggled as the cheese from the pizza stretched as far as she could get it to. Dipper ate a little more civilized, but still got a kick out of Mabel's sloppy behavior. Ford looked across the table to see McGucket taking small, almost unnoticeable bites, looking like it was his first time ever tasting pizza in his life. Stan only had one slice, leaving the rest for his family in order to go get dressed in his mystery shack getup.

The pizza was one of the best things Ford had tasted in a long time. It was the simpler things of this dimension Ford always found himself missing the most.

Stanley came back to the kitchen an hour before the shack officially opened, looking dapper as he'd ever be in his Mr. Mystery getup. He took a look and the mangled remains of the pizza and made a note to get a third pizza the next time. "Alright kids, who wants to help your poor old Grunkle Stan dust the gift shop before we open? Any takers?"

“Stan, I’ll help you. Why don’t you give the kids a little break this morning?” Ford said, crushing the pizza boxes so they’d fit in the trash can. “I need to talk to Soos before he clocks in, anyways,” he added, in a much quieter voice.

Dipper and Mabel high fived, that's a solid hour of goofing off they had earned. "Thank you, Great Uncle Ford!"

"You kids can take that time to clean out the room McGucket is staying in, make it look nice for 'im." Stanley ordered, he won't let the kids get away with being unproductive. Teaching Dipper and Mabel the value of hard work this summer was something he prided himself on.

“Yay! We can give his room a _makeover_!” Mabel screamed, practically at the top of her lungs. “Mr. McGucket, can I measure you for a sweater?”

"You'll hafta catch me first!" McGucket cackled and ran out of the kitchen like a super powered rodent, the little guy was fast. Dipper sighed, adjusted his hat, and ran after them, hoping against hope that he’d be able to corral the two before anyone came by the shack.

Stanley called out, "DON'T BREAK ANYTHING!" And pinched the bridge of his nose. "Those kids are going to give me ulcers on my ulcers."

Ford gave a light chuckle, smiling a tad. “They’re good kids. You, uh, you’ve done well, caring for them over the summer.” 

Stanley beamed with pride. "Darn right I have. I think I've redeemed myself for the time I killed our goldfish.... May Young Goldie rest in peace."

“Good lord, you still remember that?” Ford asked, walking towards the gift shop and grabbing a duster.

Stan followed and unlocked his cash register to make sure last night’s total correlated with what was left in the machine this morning. "Yeah I do, remember mom got mad at me for trying to sit Shiva in the bathroom after I flushed him? The little fish didn't get the respect he deserved." Stan laughed a little.

“What, are you afraid Young Goldie is going to come back to haunt you? Because fish don’t leave ghosts behind. They’re too small and insignificant.” Ford said, surprised. He didn’t peg Stanley for being very religious. Of course, neither was he, technically, though he still wouldn’t mess around with a burial.

"Don't slander Goldie like that, he was very important fish!" Stanley said with a very straight face. He eyed Ford's dusting work. "Don't do a half assed job, I have a big busload of sucke-...tourists coming to the Shack today." Two things Stanley had gained over the last thirty odd years: an eye for detail and a fantastic work ethic.

Ford was caught by surprise. He had thought he was doing an okay job. Maybe it was another thing that had changed in the last thirty years, maybe he just wasn’t doing it right. He didn’t have a lot of time to try and work it out, though; Soos had pulled up the driveway and was walking up to the door, adjusting his hat.

“Good morning, Mr. Pines! And Science Mr. Pines!” He said, as if nothing was wrong. Soos was carrying a heavy cardboard box, held together by duct tape. Ford couldn’t help but notice that the young man now walked with a slight limp on his left side, likely from a bruise on his midsection. He shuddered, knowing he’d been the one to do that.

Soos hummed to himself as he filled out his timecard at the register counter, and got right to work, setting the box down next to the cash register, and taking inventory from a clipboard. Stanley added an extra hour to the card once he was sure Soos wasn’t looking.

“Soos?” Ford asked, quietly approaching the man. “I, uh, I wanted to apologize. For last night. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you, and I shouldn’t have grabbed my gun. I’m sorry. Are… Are you alright?”

Soos set his clipboard down to respectfully address Ford. "I'm okay, Mr. Pines. You sure can pack a punch, dude!" He laughed until he saw Ford wasn't laughing with him. "I mean, you were just acting in self defense, I totally came at you first. No worries. We're cool." Soos offered Ford a fist bump of solidarity.

“Soos, the average human body temperature is 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit, but I do appreciate whatever slang term you’re trying to use to communicate.” Ford paused at the offered fist, before raising his own, mimicking Soos, but failing to actually make contact.

Soos sensed Stanford's confusion and slowly demonstrated a proper fistbump with himself. "It’s like a new age cool guy handshake. You just...bump it. See?" Soos took Fords fist once more and made an explosion sound effect with his mouth.

“Sorry, I haven’t been in this dimension in a while, do people always make explosion sounds when they do this?”

"Only the coolest of dudes do, dude." Soos said with absolute sincerity. He couldn't tell that Ford was pretty much lost at this point.

“...And a dude would be a male member of the species that has gained high social standing, correct?” Ford was wracking his brain for slang terms from back in the eighties, hoping that they still meant the same thing.

"Ladies can be dudes too, but you've pretty much got this down, Mr. Pines. You're officially a Dude.” Soos mimicked crowning Stanford with a question mark baseball cap from a nearby shelf.

“...Thank you, Soos.” Ford said.

“What on earth are you two doing over here?” Stan asked, pausing from counting the register.

“I’m a ‘dude’ now. Apparently.” Ford said, puffing out his chest triumphantly. “I can pay for this.” He said, noting Stan’s annoyed glare.

Soos pulled out his wallet and grabbed a couple of bills. "This one's on me. Your official coming of Dude gift." At this, Ford’s eyes went wide, and he opened his mouth to protest, but Stanley beat him to the punch.

“Just keep the damn thing.” Stan said, waving his hand. “And get back to work!” He spun around on his heel, planning on going back behind the register, when his foot caught on the box and he nearly came tumbling down. “Soos, what the f--heck is in this box?!”

“Oh that? Mabel called and told me that Science Mr. Pines needed an air mattress for him and his scrawny old hillbilly boyfriend, so I grabbed one from the attic.” Soos turned to Ford, “Is that gonna work? It's only got like, one hole, but I patched it up.” Stanley nearly bust a gut laughing, picturing the small, gangly, Fiddleford next to his brother, who’d become a tower of a man, and had learned how to be intimidating as hell in the past thirty years. He could see it, but honestly at this point in their lives it wouldn’t work out. Ford’s face was beet red, with anger or embarrassment, he couldn’t tell.

“F-Fiddleford and I are not now, _nor have we ever_ , been romantically involved. We were _friends_ , he had a _wife_ and a _son_. I’m devoted to _science_. We’re _not…_ Where did Mabel even-- nevermind, just…” He paused to catch his breath before he flew into another panic. “Thank you, for the mattress, Soos. It’s better than letting Fiddleford sleep on the couch.” Christ, he’d have to talk to Mabel to try and gauge how much she knew. If this dimension was _anything_ like it had been back in 1982… Stanford couldn't face the ridicule.

“Yeesh, poindexter. You know how Mabel likes matchmaking. ‘Sides, you two were good friends back in the day, she probably picked up on that and ran with it.” Stanley said, sensing Ford’s discomfort. If one of _Stan’s_ old boyfriends had gone mad trying to forget him, he’d try to deny anything they’d had, too.

Ford scrunched his face, unsure of whether or not Stan’s nonchalance meant he _knew_ and was fine with it, or that he thought Ford was straight and was trying to explain Mabel’s actions. “I suppose. One of us will have to talk with her about spreading _rumors_ , though.” Stan simply grunted, and went back to counting the register.

Soos dragged the box away from the counter, and closer to the entrance to the house. “Whatever you say, Mr. Pines, I’ll have this set up for you before lunch today.” When Soos passed Ford, he gave him a little smile. “ _Don’t worry dude, your secret is safe with me._ ” He said, his voice just barely audible. Ford froze, unable to breathe, his face paling. So Soos _did_ know, and he was okay with it?

Christ, why’d he have to go off on Soos last night? He didn’t have time to dwell on it. Soon the first tourist bus would pull up outside the shack, and Stanford would have to make his escape to the basement, where he'd finally feel safe.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading! If you like it be sure to let us know and you can comment below if you have any questions about the fic! Chapters 3 and 4 are coming very very soon!  
> (lord-of-vaginas-and-time.tumblr.com and greenllamajeans.tumblr.com)


	3. Mama Mia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 19-8-5-18-13-1-14 6-15-21-14-4 19-20-1-14'19 15-12-4 1-4-22-5-14-20-21-18-5 14-15-22-5-12-19 9-14 7-18-1-14-4-16-1'19 1-20-20-9-3

The last truly religious experience Stanley Pines remembered having was in 1975. The last religious experience he remembered _enjoying_ had been his and Stanford’s bar mitzvah, back in 1966.

Once, after Stan had begun his life on the road, he’d stopped by a Baptist church luncheon, hoping for a meal. Everyone seemed nice enough, and they’d invited him to come back the next week. So he did. He was, of course, living out of his car at that point, but that didn’t seem to matter as long as he showed up for church (though what he was really after was the meal). Being raised Jewish, it felt almost rebellious.

Of course, that arrangement went to shit when the Pastor’s teenage daughter got caught in the shed out back with another girl one afternoon. Her father had been furious, dragging her out by her hair and threatening to kick her out of both the church and her house if she didn’t repent. Stan punched out the pastor, and the poor girl traveled with him for a little while before they parted ways a few states away.

After spending six months in a Colombian jail cell, he’d grown more than a little homesick, and made his way to a nearby Synagogue. Service was nice, and it did remind him of home. Though, that turned out to be the problem. He’d gone to sleep only to find his dreams haunted by nightmarish versions of his family, though to be fair they weren’t always too far off from the real thing.

Sometime after Carla broke up with him, and he’d attempted suicide by driving her new boyfriend’s van into a ravine, Stan was approached by a cult. They wore their hair clean shaven and lured him in with promises of shelter, freedom, and sustenance. They’d promised he’d feel the light of god himself reaching out to him. He’d shaved his head and lived on their compound for three days before they held their first service of the week.

Stanley felt something reaching out to him, all right, and it sent chills up his spine and screamed at him to leave while he still could. He ran, and not more than three days after that he’d read in the newspaper that their so called ‘religion of freedom’ was little more than a prison, and three hundred fifty-two children and young adults had been assaulted and sacrificed by the blood crazed cultists. Soon after, he’d read that the government had firebombed the compound, killing the cultists, but also their would-be victims.

Stanley didn’t cut his hair much after that.

After Stanford fell through the portal and into another world, Stanley begged. He pleaded. He was almost willing to make a deal with the devil himself if it meant he could get a sign that Stanford might be alive, though he would later get the sneaking suspicion that he’d been lucky not to get so desperate. Stanford had kept a journal cataloguing all his supernatural findings. The torn and disheveled book held information confirming the existence of unicorns, gnomes, faeries of every colour and variety, sirens, harpies, manotaurs, dryads, surely there had to be _something_ up there that would hear Stanley’s pleas and spare Stanford his fate.

It wasn’t long before Stan gave up hope for divine intervention, and decided that the only way he was getting Stanford back was through his own blood, sweat, and tears.

Stanford, however, was a different story. The Pines family had never been devout, but in his youth, Stanford had always found the prospect of a higher being comforting. Everything had a reason to be there, had been put there specifically by something omniscient and omnipotent. And who was Stanford, the ‘six-fingered freak,’ to question the will of God Himself?

When he hit that roadblock during his investigation of Gravity Falls, he had no idea how much he would later regret ever trusting the will of god.

Stanford’s deal with Bill Cipher had been simple: Bill could move in and out of Ford’s mind as he pleased, and in return, Bill would allow Ford access to science and technology _centuries_ beyond what anyone from his realm was capable of.

Stanford had practically worshiped the ground Bill Cipher walked on, drawing his image on nearly every available surface. He hadn’t listened to Fiddleford’s concern for his health when he began using his fountain pen to draw Bill’s face onto his own skin, piercing his pale flesh with the nib. Ford was convinced that this was right, that this was good. And whenever Stanford found himself missing his family, missing Stanley, Bill Cipher had always been there to keep him focused, keep him grounded. He made sure Ford was _honored_ that such a powerful being would even take notice of him, much less choose Ford over the _billions_ of other minds to inspire. Bill reminded Ford that it had been his family _dragging him down_ all this time, and _don’t you want to spend more time in the mindscape with me, Stanford?_ He made sure Ford knew that he had no one else to turn to, no one else he could _trust_.

When Stanford finally saw Bill for what he truly was, when Stanford finally saw just exactly where this supposed god’s intentions lay? Bill Cipher showed no mercy. Stanford had managed to lock the door to the portal room and hide the key where Bill couldn’t find it, but Bill Cipher still possessed him. Used his body like a puppet. Bill had bitten down on Ford’s flesh so hard it bled. He’d thrown Stanford’s body down the stairs. He’d made Ford’s body do horrible, unspeakable things that left Ford scared and desperate.

So he’d sterilized a scalpel, shaved his head, sat down in front of the fold out mirror in his room, bit down on a towel, and installed a metal plate in his head.

Ford’s luck with gods didn’t change on the other side of the portal, either.

He’d met hundreds of them, ancient and terrible. Some were the size of planets, some were said to cause madness with just a glance. They’d warned him in eldritch tongues that his soul was tainted from his deal with Cipher, and that they would enjoy torturing it for all eternity.

Ford eventually lost count of the rituals he’d found himself the victim of, the list of gods that wanted his impure soul was far too long, and though Ford still knew that gods were real, he learnt quickly that they were horrifying and terrible, and to stay far away from their religious ceremonies.

The two of them had been apart for a lifetime, but they each understood the other’s atheism and didn’t question it.

Then, a week or two into September, after Dipper and Mabel had returned to California with their parents, the Grunkles received an invitation in the mail that made the two of them uneasy for their own good reasons.

_"Join us as we celebrate Mabel and Mason 'Dipper' Pines' call to the Torah as Bat and Bar Mitzvah"_

The invitation was decorated in beautiful blue and silver, and held direction to the twins’ ceremony, and  joint party. The envelope had been painstakingly hand addressed by Dipper, and included a few stickers from Mabel.

And so, despite their reservations, Stanley and Stanford Pines found themselves squishing into Sherman and Alexandria Pines’ van outside the bus station’s parking lot, on their way to visit the kids. They were dreading the ride to the temple tomorrow, and reminding themselves that they were doing this for Dipper and Mabel, that Gravity Falls was only a Greyhound bus ride away, San Francisco wasn’t that bad, and that Fiddleford and Soos were taking good care of The Mystery Shack while they were gone.

Dipper and Mabel's parents were ecstatic to reconnect with family. Figuring out that there were two Great Uncle Stans was a bit concerning, but after Dipper and Mabel pleading, and a few phone conversations between worried parents and estranged Grunkles, the Pines Parents decided that it was a splendid idea to have Dipper and Mabel's favorite relatives over. Sherman Pines Jr shared many of the handsome Pines family qualities; he’d inherited the Pines family strong chin, and for someone whom Stanley considered ‘a bigger nerd that the world's nerdiest old man over here’ he had to admit, Sherman looked like he knew how to throw a decent punch, and had a gruff but friendly voice. Alexandria was softer in contrast, almost petite, but a firecracker for sure. It was obvious that the twins would grow up to be good looking, and no doubt smart and successful in Sherman and Alexandria's hands.

“So, Stanford, where exactly were you the past thirty years?” Sherman asked, glancing in the rearview mirror. Stanford flinched, unsure of whether he should let on to them about the paranormal, about other worlds.

“Mabel told us you stepped out of some kind of, portal thing.” Alexandria added running her fingers through her cropped brown hair, squinting into her compact mirror. Mabel, and even Dipper, inherited pretty features from their mother, her tiny button nose and her round cheeks were apparent on the twins, and made for some cute kids.

“Stanford has been _traveling_ the past thirty years; he researches the paranormal," Stanley saved Ford from having to explain his shady dealings with some shady beings.

“...That’s okay, you don’t have to tell us everything. Dipper warned us you might not want to talk about it.” Sherman said. He wasn’t quite skilled enough to catch Stanley in his lie, but he knew his daughter; he knew when she was lying, when she was letting her imagination get the best of her, and when she was telling the truth. Sherman Pines could tell that there was something he was missing. “I understand there was an earthquake in Gravity Falls last month?”

“Yes, but thankfully there was minimal damage to the Sh-...house, and nobody got hurt. It seems like it _shook_ the kids a little, but I think they moved on pretty quick.” Stanley said, fidgeting with his shirt collar. Beads of sweat were cropping up on his forehead.

“Stanley.” Ford asked, face buried in his hands, holding back a chuckle. This was supposed to be serious. “Why?”

“Stanford,” Alexandria asked. “You study the paranormal? And Stanley’s the one who runs a gift shop, right?”

“That’s right! Though, I can’t for the life of me figure out what _possessed_ Ford to go mess around with paranormal weirdness.”

“Stanley! Not funny!” Ford said through clenched teeth.

Sherman tried his hardest not to cackle as he drove, a good Pines man can appreciate a pun, even if a bit forced. Ford, however, was not impressed. Stanley’s nervousness was making his jokes hit a little too close to home.

“We thought you were dead for years, though, Stanley.” Alexandria said, turning around in her seat to face her uncles-in-law.

“Well, dad mostly, we obviously never met you until now. He didn’t say much about you, just that you left home in ‘72 and died in ‘83.” Sherman said. “Why fake your own death?”

“He used to work for the government. Went up against some pretty bad people, and going by a new name wasn’t working anymore. So I let him use mine from time to time. The criminals that were after him were recently arrested, though.” Stanford said, a little too quickly, but the lie was at least serviceable.

Stanley was no doubt impressed with the lie, and hell, it made his life sound marginally more noble that it really was. “We were sworn to secrecy, I couldn’t even tell my folks what had really happened. ” _Not that I’d want to_ , Stanley thought to himself. “But, honestly, a fifty-eight year old man like me ain’t gonna hold his own very well against those guys, it was better for everyone that I enter the witness protection program.”

"Well, that's very brave of you, Stanley. Very admirable." Alexandria smiled back at the two Grunkles as they pulled up to their classic San Francisco home, tall and skinny and squished between their neighbors. Ford noticed the blinds were cracked a split second before they shut again, and Dipper and Mabel came running out of the house.

“Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford!”

Mabel supplied party blowers to welcome Stan and Ford to their home, and was wearing a sweater with the Mystery Shack logo, hand stitched with love. Dipper was dressed for cooler weather, but was still sporting his pine tree cap. The Pines pulled into their garage, and the twins rushed in to greet the Grunkles properly with hugs.

“Dipper, what happened? You’re gone for two weeks and now you’ve turned into a man!” Ford said, picking Dipper up.

Dipper laughed and held on tight to Ford. "Well, I guess that's actually tomorrow! Dipper Pines, official man." He said, puffing out his chest a little.

“Mabel! How’s my favorite niece?” Stanley said, scooping her up onto his shoulders. “Still advertising The Mystery Shack, I see?”

"Of course, Grunkle Stan, I've told all of my friends about it! I'm your number one in the marketing department, and you know it!" Mabel giggled as she was lifted off of the ground. “We decorated your room! I hope someone likes _sparkles_! Oh, oh, oh, is Waddles doing okay?”

“Your pig is doing _great_ , sweetie.” Stan said, beaming, and reaching into his back pocket. “And I brought pictures to prove it!” He added, handing Mabel a stack of photos of Waddles. “Ford loves your pet, he just won’t admit it, so don’t let him tell you otherwise, okay?” He said with a wink.

Sherman and Alexandria smiled at that sweet reunion. It warmed their hearts to see their children have such a good relationship with their distant family. Sending them to Gravity Falls for the summer was probably the best decision they had ever made for their twins.

"Alright, kids, let's get your great uncles inside, I'm sure they'd be more comfortable in there than in the garage." Sherman opened the door to inside the house and the twins each took a Grunkle by the hand and led him inside. Alexandria grabbed Stan and Ford’s only piece of luggage, a worn out duffel bag that looked older than she was, and carried it in, refusing Stan’s hand when he offered to carry it for her. The Pines house was cozy and tidy, the staircase banister had been decorated with streamers by Mabel, and there's a delicious smell coming from the kitchen. Dipper dragged Ford to the stairs with excitement, "Mom, Dad, can I give Great Uncle Ford a tour?"

"Let your sister help you, Dipper." Alexandria instructed, and handed the duffel to Dipper and Mabel to carry it together, which they did with a bit of a struggle, but much enthusiasm, again refusing Stan’s hand when he tried to carry it himself.

“Stanford, let me grab your coat for you.” Sherman said, opening a hall closet. Ford froze, not wanting to offend the twins parents, but he couldn’t bring himself to take off his trench coat. It’d been his only home for years.

“Sorry, Dad, but Great Uncle Ford never takes it off.” Dipper said with a smile, hoping to diffuse the situation.

Mabel chimed in, "It’s his signature look, Dad, don't cramp his style!"

“Alright, alright. Dinner’s in an hour, we’ll call you when it’s ready. And go easy on your uncles!” Sherman conceded. Something wasn’t right about the way Ford looked, like a deer in headlights, but whatever it was, he decided not to push it.

Mabel and Dipper heaved the bag into the hallway, like an Olympic event, and it landed perfectly outside the guest bedroom. They high fived each other and turned to pull a Grunkle along the hallway. "Over there is the bathroom, Mom and Dad's room is over there, and our room is here, do you wanna see??" Mabel spoke a mile a minute.

“Of course, you little gremlin.” Stan said, tousling her hair. "Lead the way." Mabel opened the door to her and Dipper's room, quite a bit larger than their little attic at the Shack. Their beds are at opposite side of the room, and they each had a desk  and matching dressers. Mabel's side was plastered with posters, pictures of friends, and some pictures taken in Gravity falls. All of her stuffed animals sat on her bed in a neat row for presentation's sake. Dippers side was very organized, simple bedding, posters from movies hung up perfectly parallel, and he'd even had some pictures from his summer in gravity falls as well. His desk was the messiest spot in the room, littered with loose paper, piles of books, and his own journals. Mabel's desk is quite organized, her craft tools all in neat clear boxes, and an open scrapbook page she had been working on.

“Great Uncle Ford, I wanted to show you something I’ve been working on. It’s about the Reagan administration. I’ve hit a snag and I was hoping you could help me.” Dipper said, pulling Ford off towards his desk.

Mabel held Stan’s hand and pulled him over to her side, "I've been cataloging all of our summer adventures, and I've taken up two scrapbooks! I've been making copies of all the pictures so you could take a scrapbook home with you." Mabel pulled out a red album she'd decorated with Stan's fez insignia in gold glitter. Stan grabbed the book as delicately as he could, flipping through the pages. There were photos of their fishing trip, pages full of Mabel’s selfies, there was one of Dipper with his nose in the third journal. He paused over a picture of Ford, sitting by himself on the porch. "I'm not done yet, there are a few things I need to add...but do you like it?"

“Mabel, I love it.” Stan said, smiling wide. “You took all these yourself?”

"Most of them! I had Soos and Wendy take a few for me." Mabel pointed out a few examples, most of them where she was trying to pose with Dipper, who looked like he was desperately trying to avoid the camera.

Dipper flipped through some papers, trying to find what he wanted to show Ford, and sighed. "Hold on, let me pull it up on my computer." Dipper pulled out his quite sleek and modern laptop. Having a dad in computer biz had its advantages.

“Wait, _this_ is a computer?” Ford asked. “This looks nothing like Fiddleford’s laptop.” He said, noting that Dipper was using what appeared to be a touchscreen, and the monitor _swiveled_ far more than it probably should.

"Mmhmm, it was a birthday gift from Dad and Mom. I think I bookmarked the page..." Dipper pulled up an article on the internet lightning fast and enlarged the font so Ford can read over his shoulder. "There we go!" He sensed Ford's fascination with his new toy, and picked it up to hand it to Ford. "Do you wanna look at it?" Ford tentatively grabbed hold of the machine. The laptop is crazy light, almost like holding a piece of paper compared to Fiddleford's old creations.

“And all computers are like this now?” Ford asked, incredulous. He folded the screen of the laptop backwards, so the computer looked like a tent. “This looks almost like a tagraph, but larger.”

"Well, this one is top of the line, brand new, and technology is constantly changing...wait what's a tagraph?" Dipper watched Ford examine the computer, stoked to impress his Great Uncle with something.

“It’s a technology from another dimension. Uh, B-1700 I think. It’s basically a library in your pocket. Each one contains the complete history of that world. They’re fascinating things. I’d show you, but unfortunately I wasn’t able to smuggle one out of that dimension. The Dacirons of that world treat their knowledge like something similar to our Library of Alexandria. Only for the rich elite of their society. Eventually, the lower castes will get fed up and likely destroy each one.”

"Hey, that's kind of close! I mean, if you have access to the internet , you can look up information about anything anywhere." Dipper pulled his cellphone out and open up the Google on the browser. "This is a search engine, you can type in anything you want to know about, and it pulls up web pages that relate to your search." He typed in 'Gravity Falls, Oregon' in the search bar and showed off the results. "See? And this one fits in your pocket!"

“And you don’t have to have a microchip implanted into your brain to use it?”

"Nope, no brain surgery required. You can try it out if you want!" Dipper pocketed his cell phone and took the laptop back, pulling Google up for Ford. Ford stared at the laptop screen for a moment, then typed ‘The Mystery Shack’ into the search bar.

One of the first results was a YouTube video, an attempt at advertising Stan had made with Soos and Wendy's help a year ago. It was pretty terrible, but had a few hits due to the hilarity of Stan’s lack of social media knowledge. Though, at the end of the video, where a second Stan appeared in a puff of smoke claiming to be ‘the _real_ Mr. Mystery,’ Dipper and Ford couldn’t help but wince.

"Hey, what are you two bozos watching over there?" Stan looked up from Mabel’s scrapbook across the room.

“I’m, uh, showing Ford how to use the internet.”

Mabel hopped up and shuffled over to look for herself. "This sounds exciting! OOH!! Show him that video with the sneezing baby panda! Or the one with ducklings following a cat because they think it's their momma duck!" Mabel’s hands reached over Dipper’s shoulders, typing ‘cute duckling videos’ into the search bar. Ford was amazed. It seemed like there was a type of subculture involved that only showed itself over these computers. And then it dawned on him. The only way a subculture could have formed on these things is if enough people had bought them.

And Fiddleford had been trying to push his way into what was now likely a billion dollar industry when Ford called him up.

Stan soon joined the party, trying to keep a straight face while he watched the cutest puppy video he'd ever seen. "Ford, are you really watching this stuff?”

Ford wanted to call Fiddleford back in Gravity Falls and apologize over and over again for cheating him out of potential billions. But instead he swallowed any guilt he felt and lied. “It’s just interesting to see a technology like this that’s used for social purposes instead of strictly education.” It wasn’t completely false, but he was more concerned about his friend at this point.

"Grunkle Ford, we should make you a Facebook page!" Mabel took over the keyboard once again to go to Facebook, where Dipper was logged in. He had a few friends from school, family members, and followed a lot of scientists and conspiracy bloggers. His profile picture was one of him and Mabel, who had the matching one as her profile picture too. "You can make friends and keep them updated on your life, it's a really good way to stay in touch with family!”

Mabel tapped away and got started on Ford's Facebook page, if he liked it or not. "Grunkles, when is your birthday?" Ford stiffened. He hadn’t actually celebrated it in so long. Even before he’d fallen through the portal and lost track of time, without Stanley, birthdays had become a reminder of being used, manipulated, and betrayed. Of the brother he lost decades ago. After a long silence, Grunkle Stan typed the birthday in himself and crossed his arms, trying not to think about his own issues with his birthday.

Mabel started sending requests to family, adding them to his profile. Grunkle Stan had a page he never touched, for the express purpose of promoting the Mystery Shack. Once people started messaging him to ask for refunds, he got bored with it. To top the whole thing off, Mabel pulled up Dipper's webcam and crawled in Ford's lap to take a good profile picture. "Come on Dipper, get in the frame, say cheese! You too, Grunkle Ford, smile!" Mabel snapped a quite candid picture, her smile was big, but Dipper's eyes were closed and Ford looked like he was about to sneeze. "PERFECT!" Mabel took the liberty of setting that as Ford's profile picture.

A booming voice called from  downstairs. "Kids! Bring your uncles down, dinner's almost ready!" Sherman yelled up the stairway, making sure the kids heard him.

Mabel hopped up when she heard her father call, and set Dipper’s laptop down. “C’mon, let’s eat before it gets cold!” She said, bounding out of the room and down the stairs. Dipper took his computer back, locked it, and properly shut it down. Stanley and Ford followed the twins, exchanging worried glances.

“...Sherman’s onto us.” Stanley whispered. “We should get our stories straight tonight, and hope they don’t ask too much over dinner.”

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. He hadn’t had a civil meal outside of the Shack, and this was going to be difficult. “Well, if they _do_ figure it out, which they won’t, not from me anyways, I brought the memory gun. It’s in the holster on my hip.”

“You brought _what?!_ ” Stan said through grit teeth. “That thing made your best friend go crazy, and you wanna use it on the kids p--” Ford shoved his hands over Stan’s mouth.

“Keep it down! I wasn’t planning on using it on Sherman and Alexandria, though I will if I must. Honestly, Stan, how do you think the police are going to react if they find out you faked your own death? People don’t just get away with that, you could go to jail. And last time I used it to bail us out, you didn’t exactly _object._ ”

“Grunkle Stan? Grunkle Ford? Are you guys coming?” Mabel’s head poked out from behind the stairwell.

“Yeah, We’ll be right there, sweetheart.” Stanley answered, growing a little nervous. The last thing he wanted was to screw something up and lose his relationship with the kids. Convincing the Pines Parents that he and his brother weren’t a huge, sad criminal and a traumatized space nerd was of the utmost importance. “Alright, Ford, listen, No weapons at the table, or at least conceal them a little better.”

“The weapons don’t leave my side. Under _any_ circumstances.” Ford was stressed enough as it is, he didn’t need to put himself through feeling _vulnerable_ without a way to defend himself. “We just need to get through the rest of today, and then tomorrow, and then we’ll be back on the bus to Gravity Falls and everything can go back to _normal_.”

“Agreed. You’re a brilliant scientist who roamed all over _this_ world while your brother borrowed your identity for witness protection. Any questions?” Stanley asked. Ford didn’t respond, he only clasped his hands behind his back and hurried down the stairs.

Dipper had just finished setting the table when Ford appeared, and he beamed up at the grunkle  
he admired the most. “We left space for you and Stan at the end of the table, but you can sit anywhere you’re comfortable...”

“It’s fine, Dipper. Thank you.” Ford said, placing a hand on his shoulder, and taking the seat closest to the back door. Sherman sat to his right, and Stanley took a seat across from Ford. He’d be able to read both Ford and Sherman’s body language discreetly from there, and if Alexandria sat on that side of the table, that’d be even better. He wasn’t so sure she believed their story, either. Dipper took a seat close to Ford, and Mabel approached Stanley with a dishrag draped over her arm, playing waitress.

 “And what would you like to drink this evening, _sir?_ We have a fine vintage Pitt Cola, and I think mom busted out the adult beverages?” Mabel feigned her fanciest accent, and Alexandria had to stifle a laugh. Her daughter’s theatrics never ceased to amaze her.

“A Pitt Cola is fine, sweetheart. Thank you.” Stan said, smiling at the scene before him.

“And for _you_ , sir?” Mabel asked Ford, who was completely oblivious to the fact that Mabel was only pretending to be a waitress. Stan wanted to smack his forehead.

“Er, a Pitt Cola, please. Ma’am.” Ford looked absolutely petrified. Was this how Mabel acted every night at her parent’s house? Was this considered normal? She’d never done this at the Shack, was it something only done in the presence of parents? There had to be something he was missing. He tried watching Stan to gage his reaction, but he’d only glared at him, and Sherman  and Alexandria weren’t much help.

Mabel scurried off quickly to retrieve the two liter of soda for everyone to share. Once her Grunkles’ orders were taken, that was good enough for her to drop her server act. Dipper shook his head when Mabel left and called out sarcastically, “Yeah, the rest of us are fine, Mabel! Can you believe the service around here? Don’t expect a tip.” At this, Ford grew nervous, feeling in his pockets for cash. Stan nearly kicked him under the table, anything to keep Ford from blowing their cover.

Mabel set down the bottle in the center of the table, next to the covered dish that was practically steaming. “Dipper, you and dad already have your drinks, and we have _guests!_ Don’t be so sensitive.”

Sherman shot the twins a look, trying his hardest not to laugh at their entertaining banter. “That’s enough you two, the longer you argue, the colder dinner is going to get.” Alexandria began making plates for everyone, using the ‘take one down and pass it around’ method. She and Mabel had prepared a slow cooked ravioli, pasta made by hand, and it smelled good enough to make both Grunkles salivate. Stan could hardly call himself a chef, and this was likely the first home-cooked meal he’d eaten in years that wasn’t underseasoned and overcooked. And Ford hadn’t eaten anything decent in almost as long.

Stan took his first bite, and he very nearly didn’t have to wait until the Bar Mitzvah to have a religious experience. By taste alone, he could tell that the ricotta was organic, and the creamy texture mixed perfectly with the tomato sauce (those were definitely home grown, the canned sauce from the store never tasted like this) and Mabel and Alexandria had made the perfect pasta. It was by far the best thing he’d tasted in a long while.

And it was going to make him sick.

The last time he’d had a meal this good was in Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey. Good lord, he could still see his mother’s face as she peered into a steaming pot of vegetables, Sherman Sr. throwing a fit in his rickety high chair, Stanford sprinting out the door in a bow tie of all things, ready to achieve his dreams. His father’s face, hidden behind a newspaper. _It’d been a little house, squished together like this, hadn’t it?_ Stanley thought to himself, as he took another bite, practically forcing himself. He’d tried for so long to get back home, wasted his life away, went starving more often than not, and for what? He’d likely never see his old house again. His dad was dead, he’d never get the chance to prove to Filbrick that Stanley Pines was _not_ the ignoramus he thought he was. Hell, he’d never even gotten _Ford_ to like him again.

“Do you like it, Grunkle Stan?” Mabel asked, her sweet voice piercing Stan’s little trip down memory lane. She could sense Stan’s state of deep thought, and hoped she didn’t do anything to screw up the meal. She’d put all of her love and effort into it.

“It’s delicious, Mabel.” He’d never been more truthful in his life. Ford was looking at him now. He’d long since noticed Stan wasn’t acting as chipper as he’d been when they sat down, and honestly, he wasn’t sure he could do anything to help the situation.

Mabel looked relieved to hear her Grunkle approve. Alexandria cleared her throat to break the silence, “There’s plenty more where that came from, Stanley. Again, I must say, Sherman and I are very happy to have you and Stanford in our home. Dipper and Mabel have nothing but positive things to say about the both of you. You seem to have made quite the impression this summer. We’ll have to ship them off to see you again next year, if you’re okay with it of course.”

“That would be wonderful.” Ford said, delicately placing his silverware on the napkin before speaking. “Having the kids over for the summer was a delight.” Alexandria sensed a sincerity in Ford’s tone that hadn’t been there before.

“Really?” Dipper asked, needing the reassurance. He’d looked up to Ford all summer, and it made his little heart skyrocket to hear he and his sister were wanted back for another summer of adventure.

"Of course, Dipper, I've enjoyed getting to spend time with you kids." Ford placed hand on Dipper's shoulder, reassuring him with a smile.

“That’s fantastic. Kids these days spend too much time cooped up in the house. It’s good for them to get out and have a sense of _adventure_.” Sherman said. “And, well, if that means we have to spend a summer away from the kids, I’m glad it’s to send them to live with you.”

Mabel chimed in to tease Dad. “Yeah, we get a break from Mom and Dad, _AND_ we get to go on adventures! It’s a win win situation for everyone.”

“Hey!” Alexandria said, hand over her heart, pretending to be offended. “We missed you both so much while you were gone!”

“Don’t forget who it was who gave you two life!” Sherman chided, doing his best to feign seriousness, earning a hearty laugh from Dipper and Mabel. Stanley, however, clenched his fingers against his chair, leaving half moon dents in the wood.

He swore, he’d heard Filbrick Pines in that voice.

His heart was pounding in his chest, he couldn’t breathe. Visions of Stanley having to step in front of Ford, of him being lifted off the ground by his shirt, of his father’s incoming fists, flashed through his mind. Ford was looking at him, maybe he’d heard their father, too. No, no that’s ridiculous. Ford had been the golden child, Stanley had made sure of that. No, it had to be Stanley, he was confusing Sherman for Filbrick, he’d forgotten that Filbrick Pines had been _dead_ for _fifteen years, how could he be so **stupid** to forget that? _ Stan didn’t dare move. Everything about this place was reminding him of the home he’d lost in New Jersey, but he couldn’t ruin this for the kids.

The kids didn’t notice their great uncles’ discomfort and continued to laugh at their dad pretending to be strict. Sherman started to laugh along, all of the Pines authority missing from his voice. “You both are grounded for ten years. We put you in this world and we can take you out of it!” Sherman glanced over at his house guests and noticed there was once again, something up with them. “Are you getting full, Stanley? Stanford? There’s still plenty if you want seconds.”

“We’re, aheh, we’re fine, Sherman. Really, dinner was delicious.” Stan said, trying to slip into his Mr. Mystery persona, anything to help him sound more convincing. He caught Alexandria’s eye, and froze, once again. Years of homelessness, of always looking over his shoulder, of conning whoever happened to pass him by, of running the Mystery Shack, had taught him to read people like open books. And he could tell, by the way she was looking at him: her eyes were squinted, focusing too much on his grey hair and wrinkled skin. The way her hand twitched, each finger moved just a tad, individually in a sequence, like a customer working out what their total should be in their head. Her lips twitched, likely subconsciously. It was barely noticeable, hell, with Stan’s cataracts he’d been lucky to see it. No sound came from her lips, he could tell that much even if he hadn’t had hearing aid on, but he didn’t have to hear to know what she was saying. _Twenty twelve, o two, ninety-two, eighty-two, seventy-two._ Stan and Ford had been expected to graduate in 1972, but only one of them had gotten a diploma, and it wasn’t the one who supposedly worked for the government.

She’d figured them out.

“Kids, after we do the dishes, I want you two to make sure your Grunkles’ room is set up, and get ready for bed. You have a very big day tomorrow.” Alexandria said, it wasn’t too obvious too that she wanted some time to talk with Stan and Ford, adult-to-adult. Well, not to Dipper and Mabel, anyways. Alexandria finished her plate and helped Dipper and Mabel get a second helping, knowing full well that they only wanted more food so they could have more grunkle time.

Once the dishes were done, and Dipper and Mabel were tucked in bed, Stanley and Ford found themselves in the guest bedroom (which had been painted bright pink and sprinkled liberally with glitter) pacing like madmen.

“What do you mean they found out?! They didn’t even ask us anything!” Ford said, raking his hand through his hair.

“They didn’t have to. It was Alexandria, she was counting out our ages. She probably knows when you graduated, Poindexter, it’s not exactly hidden information. And I know she knows when I got kicked out. She got us on the diploma.” Stan said, pinching the bridge of his nose, blinking back tears. This was it. He was going to lose the last bit of the Pines family that truly cared about him.

Suddenly Sherman knocked at the door, startling Stan and Ford, “Would you two like something to drink, and a little dessert? Alexandria and I will be in the living room when you’re ready to come down.” He was ready to get the real story about these two men, but until then, he would remain hospitable for as long as possible.

Once Sherman left the room, Stan turned towards the only window in the room, and unclasped the hook.

“What are you doing?” Ford asked, fumbling with the memory gun, trying to think of something to erase that would get the results they wanted but not damage Sherman and Alexandria’s minds too much.

“What’s it look like, Ford? I’m leaving. I’m going to the bus station and heading home.” Stan said, grabbing their duffel bag from the side of the bed. “You and I both know that they’re not gonna let us see the kids again if we tell them the truth. Even if we somehow come up with another lie, they _still_ wouldn’t let us see them.” Stan chuckled, a tear leaking down his face. “I mean, what self-respecting parent would let their kids within a hundred _feet_ of us! _You’re_ a reclusive, traumatized space nerd and _I’ve_ got a criminal record a mile long, and _that’s_ just the stuff I got _caught_ doing! We need _them_ more than they need _us_. We’d only be hurting Dipper and Mabel in the long run if we used that… that _thing_ on their parents. If we don’t tell them _anything_ , then they won’t have anything to tell the _cops_.” He paused, drawing a shaky breath. “I can’t get kicked outta this family again, Stanford. Please, let’s just _go._ ”

Ford grabbed the duffel bag to pull Stan away from the window. “We’re not getting kicked out of the family, Stan. If we tell them the truth, and they try to call the police, I’ll erase their memories.”

“Like _hell_ you are.” Stan said, through gritted teeth. “Not on the kid’s parents. Our best bet is to just _leave._ ”

“Stanley, I… I know you think we’re bad for the kids, and honestly we probably are… But do you really want to leave them without saying goodbye? Do you want to break their hearts like that?”

“ _You shut up about broken hearts!_ ” Stan whispered through clenched teeth, his hands balled into  trembling fists. “ _You shut up about broken hearts, when for once in my life, I’m just trying to protect **mine**._ ” Ford tentatively put his hands on Stanley’s shoulders.

“...Stanley, please. Can we try it my way? I don’t want a broken heart either...believe me.” He paused, pocketing the memory gun. “We could tell them the truth, and just not use the memory gun on them. If they call the police, we’ll have to be faster then them, but if we can make it back to Gravity Falls, we could get off scot free. We could hide in the forest, live in the bunker if we have to. It’s dangerous in there but it beats jail.”

Stan dropped the duffle bag with a loud thump, and removed his glasses to wipe his eyes. “Those kids will never forgive us if their parents make them believe we’re dangerous. We’ve got to do a good job at convincing them that we aren’t. You might want to leave the talking to me.”

“No, we got into this mess together, and we’re getting out of it together. I can censor myself if I have to, but I’ll be right there with you, Stanley.”

“Let’s get this over with. Before they decide to just look my criminal record up on the internet.”

“Jesus, they can do that?” Ford asked. “How invasive is that thing?”

“You don’t want to know.” Stan led the way down the stairs where Sherman and Alexandria were seated on the couch, each with a dark glass of wine.

“Stanley, Stanford. There’s more wine in the kitchen if you’d like a glass, and we also have brownies.” Alexandria said, as calmly and politely as she could.

“No, thank you, Alexandria. I… I don’t drink.” Stanford said, hands behind his back.

“I think we all know that you didn’t ask us down here to drink fancy wine and eat brownies.” Stan said.

“Then pull up a seat, there’s plenty of room.” Sherman said, a bit more sincerity in his voice than Alexandria had had in hers.

Stan sat across from the couple, in a elegant looking loveseat, keeping his perfect poker face, careful not to give anything under the surface away so easily. _I hope I can run fast enough. Do we have enough money for new tickets back, or am I going to have to pick some pockets? I can’t do this…_ Ford sat next to him, looking a bit nervous but otherwise composed.

“Let’s get down to brass tacks.” Sherman said, sipping from his wine glass. “Why did you lie to us, and why did Stanley _really_ fake his death? We’ll make a decision after you’re done telling us the whole story. Whatever it is, we’ll understand.”

“...After dad gave me the boot, I was homeless, okay?” Stan said, not having to sugarcoat it for two shiny twelve year olds anymore. “I did what I had to to get by, but I got involved with a rough crowd. I made a lot of mistakes just trying to survive out there for over ten years. I suddenly get a postcard from my brother asking for my help, the first time I’ve talked to him since the night i got kicked out, so of course I go to help him.” Stanley began.

“I really did go to Gravity Falls to research the paranormal. You don’t want to know specifics, but the long and short of it is: it’s real, it’s dangerous, and it wants to end our world. I’d made my fair share of enemies as well, as well as my fair share of mistakes.” Stanford paused. “You might not want to be taking a sip of that wine when I tell you this. Multiverse theory is _definitely_ true, and I’d managed to build an incredibly unstable portal through a weak spot in our reality. I’d written the instructions throughout a series of journals, and I needed a way to hide them so _no one_ could ever start it. Dipper’s got a copy of one of them now, er, sans apocalypse instructions.”

“So I get to Gravity Falls, and this guy’s a mess. Acting like your grandma after her tenth cup of coffee. He’s real scared of _something_ , but I didn’t know what. So he asks me to hide one of his spooky books. Then we--” Stan’s breath hitched, not for the first time that night, and he disguised it under a false cough. “We got in a fight.”

“A bad one. By the end of it, Stanley was severely injured on one side of the portal, and I was stranded on the other.” Ford picked up when he noticed Stan faltering.

“People’d miss Ford if he was gone, and I knew that he would be back.” _I had to know, cause if I’d ever lost hope I wouldn’t be here right now._ “So I faked my death instead. Started up a tourist trap in his house, and spent thirty years trying to restart the portal with a third of the instructions. If it weren’t for the kids coming to Gravity Falls, I probably would have never gotten my hands on the other two journals. So… thanks for that.”

“He restarted the portal, but there were… side effects to using it. Gravity essentially reversed itself. That’s what the earthquake really was last month. And so, after thirty years hopping from dimension to dimension... I’m back. Here.” Ford said, he and Stanley bracing themselves for when the inevitable came.

“So that’s why you were acting so weird at dinner… You haven’t been in this world for _decades_.” Sherman said, scratching his chin.

“Sweet baby Jesus, Sherman, you said your grandfather was a prick, but you didn’t mention he was _that_ much of a prick. Who the hell lets their kid go without shelter for ten years? I’m so sorry for all you two have been through… I can see why you were apprehensive in discussing all of this. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Dipper and Mabel constantly trying to tell us stories about weird paranormal creatures, I probably wouldn’t have believed you when you said you built a _portal_.”

“And to think that you survived for _30 whole years_ in some other dimension? It’s so incredible that you’re here now.” Sherman balked.

“Uh, s-several, actually. I couldn’t just sit on my thumbs, I tried to get back home. I guess I got to experience so many different worlds, my own got lost in the chaos.” Ford grimaced. What on earth (or any other planet) were these people getting at?

Alexandria sat on the edge of her seat, grasping her wine glass. “Gosh...are you sure you don’t want any brownies or a little wine? Thirty years in either of your shoes, I’d sure as hell want some.” She offered simply, not at all upset with Ford or Stan.

“What?” Stan asked, squinting at the couple in front of them, for once completely lost.

“Multiverse theory… Incredible! How did you figure it out?” Sherman asked, being technologically inclined himself.

“You don’t want to know the answer to that question.” Ford said, a deadly serious look on his face.

Alexandria hopped up, placing her glass in her husband’s free hand. “I’m getting you guys some brownies, and something to soothe your nerves. It’ll be good for you.” She shuffled off to the kitchen to make strong drinks and a plate of brownies for the Grunkles, whether they liked it or not.

“What?” Stanley asked again.

“She’ll probably break out the brandy. We’re not heavy drinkers but we did buy a bottle in case that’s what you prefered. Stanford, you said you didn’t drink, so obviously you don’t have to have any.” Sherman said.

“No, no, I don’t care about the alcohol. Thank you for offering, but I don’t care. Are… are you _okay_ with this?” Stanley asked, blinking back tears.

Alexandria came back with a mug of herbal tea, and some brandy in a pretty crystal glass, and balanced a plate of brownies on her arm. “Okay with what? Your life story? There isn’t much you can do to change it, I’m afraid.” She set the mug of tea down in front of Stanford. “It’s chamomile, you’re not allergic are you?”

“We both lied to you _and_ your children all summer! We’ve been lying to you _again_ since we got here!” Ford screamed. “I’m a dangerous know-it-all and he disregards the law and doesn’t think of the consequences of his actions, he risked the _universe_ for the life of one man, and we’ve been watching your _kids_ all summer!”

“And they’ve had nothing but good things to say about you both. Dipper and Mabel have really matured over the summer, and they seem to have had a very positive experience. It seems obvious to me that you both would never harm the kids, I can see that you love them as much as we do. Not to mention the fact that you’ve saved both their lives, on several occasions. When they said you two took out a pterodactyl, a horde of zombies, and a cardboard wizard come to life, we never thought for a second that they _meant_ it. We should be _thanking_ you.” Alexandria set the brandy and the brownie down, and wrapped her arms around Ford’s neck before he could even react. Ford went rigid in the hug, all his concentration went to fighting against the instincts that were screaming at him to get away. “Come here, Stanley, you too.”

Stan slowly approached the two of them, the horror on Ford’s face making him worry. He allowed himself to get pulled into a group hug by Alexandria, and reluctantly gave her an awkward _pat pat_. Sherman rose to tap Alexandria on the shoulder, not wanting the grunkles to get overwhelmed. He knew his wife was an affectionate person, and he loved that about her, but he could also tell when she got a little too overbearing. “Alex, dear, I think you’re smothering them.” Sherman chuckled. She gently pulled away from the hug, beaming.

“I’m sorry, I’m just… We’re really happy that you’re not serial killers.” Alexandria said, only half joking.

“That was _your_ theory, not mine.” Sherman almost snorted, the small amount of alcohol in his system making this whole situation hilarious to him. “ _I_ was guessing druglords!”

“...Well you’re not _wrong_. Or at least you wouldn’t have been thirty years ago.” Stanley said, slumping his shoulders.

Sherman covered his mouth to suppress his laughter, and gave Stan a pat on the shoulder. “The past is the past, right? It might just be the Californian in me talking, but you were just doing what you had to. Besides, it’d be a little hypocritical of me to really judge you for that.”

“Yeah, we were pretty wild in college, right darling?” Alexandria winked and wrapped an arm around her husband.

“Yeah, I guess we were.” Sherman said. “The important thing, Stanley, is you’re past it now.” Stanley didn’t do anything. He didn’t say anything. He just stared at Sherman, sure that he was lying, but unable to find a tell.

Alexandria could see that Ford and Stan were still distressed. “We um...We didn’t mean to upset you by bringing all of this up. We just had to know for ourselves, for the kids’ sake. We don’t blame you at _all_ for what happened. If it had been Dipper or Mabel on the other side of that portal? We’d have done the same thing Stanley did.” Ford wanted to scream, to tell them that they were both fools, that it was madness to risk so much over so little, but it dawned on him that he’d risk it too if it had been Dipper or Mabel. Or worse, Stanley, and it very easily could have been. “You’re both family, and you’re both good people. We love you both.” She grabbed their hands this time, clasping hers around theirs.

“...So, you… You’re not going to keep us from ever seeing the kids again? You’re not kicking us out?” Stanley asked, just to be absolutely sure. He’d had them pegged, how could he have been so wrong?

“Of course we’re not going to kick you out. You can come see the kids whenever you like, just call first so we know to set out extra plates.” Sherman said. Stanley was in a state of disbelief, glancing from Sherman to Alexandria’s hand over his and Ford’s. Then, something clicked in his brain. Before he knew it, he had wrapped Alexandria in another hug, this one much more sincere than the first. He felt Ford wriggling his hand away, but he didn’t care. He was going to see Dipper and Mabel again, Sherman and Alexandria actually liked him, the _real_ him. He felt as if he had a real family for the first time in forever. Sherman joined in on the hug this time, and though Ford sat out, Stanley still felt a six fingered hand on his shoulder, and that was good enough for him.

“You, uh… You guys ever need anything… _anything_ … You give us a call, okay?” Stan said, his gruff voice cracking a little.

“Same to you, Stanley. It's what family does.” Sherman gave Stanley a firm squeeze before he pulled away.

“You’re very kind to be doing this.” Stanford said, a tired smile on his face.

Alexandria squeezed once more before pulling away and smiling at the two of them. “Well, I think we’ve dug up enough dirt for one night. We won’t make you stay down here any longer if you’re tired. We all are going to have a long day tomorrow.” Stan and Ford shared a worried glance.

Oh, right.

The bar mitzvah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading! If you like it be sure to let us know and you can comment below if you have any questions about the fic! Chapters 4 and 5 are coming very very soon!  
> (lord-of-vaginas-and-time.tumblr.com and greenllamajeans.tumblr.com)


	4. You'll Regret That When You're Eighty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4-5-1-4-12-25 13-1-20-18-9-14-9-20-5 7-1-19 9-19 8-5-1-22-9-5-18 20-8-1-14 15-24-25-7-5-14  
> 13-5-13-15-18-9-5-19 15-6 1 7-8-9-15-18-14'19 19-11-9-14 4-15-14'20 6-1-4-5  
> 20-8-5 1-18-13-9-5-19 15-6 26-5-12-1-5-8 16-1-9-14-20 20-8-5 14-9-7-8-20 19-11-25 7-18-5-5-14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a brief mention of self harm scars in this chapter.

“ _Disco girl…..comin throuuugh…”_ Dipper hummed along to his BABBA CD in the bathroom as he combed his hair back, pausing to stare at his forehead in the mirror, a small frown ghosting across his face. He looked much older and dignified with it out of his face, but the constellation on his forehead still made him feel insecure. He squinted a little at his double in the mirror, his mind racing to the beat of the pop song. _Do I look too much like a kid...? I’m supposed to be a man now, I’m an adult. I’m mature. Tyrone would have loved to be doing this… What would Tyrone do? Hide it? Flaunt it? ...That girl is yooouu, oo-ooo- wait, Dipper, focus. Don’t forget anything from your 2 months of hebrew school last spring. Just **focus** and you’ll do everything just fine. Its not like your whole **family** is watching you_ \-- Dipper’s eyes widened and he clutched his chest in panic, “Mabel, I need your help!”

Mabel popped her head in the bathroom, hand over her eyes, her hair up in a messy bun centered at the top of her head, and she was covered up in a fluffy pink bathrobe. She’d been in the middle of applying makeup, and looked sort of insane without her full face finished. “Dipper, I replaced the toilet paper last time…! Oh, you aren’t stranded?” Mabel slid in and closed the door. “What’s the big deal? Do you want me to help you slick your hair back or something?”

“Or something…. Mabel, would you be able to cover up my birthmark? With your makeup?” Dipper asked softly, a small part of him hoping Mabel didn’t hear and he could change his mind. His family loved his unusual birthmark, but he didn’t always feel the same. Being around Ford over the summer had helped a little, but he was just one person: Dipper was about to go up there in front of everyone, his whole community, with his forehead lit up like a billboard.

“Are… are you sure, Dipper? I mean, this is your big day. And everyone loves your birthmark, the only people who made fun of it are those brats at school. And none of those idiots will be there. You’re gonna look great, Dip, you don’t need my help.” Mabel was her brother’s biggest fan, and she would stand up for him if anyone gave him trouble. She was pretty well liked at school, and she always made sure Dipper was included if he wanted to be. But she also knew that he was insecure about his birthmark, and she didn’t try to force him to show it off if he didn’t want to.

“Please… Mabel you have to help me I don’t know how to cover it up myself.” All Dipper could think of was everyone staring at him, only seeing his birthmark, nothing else. “I can’t go out there like this! Everyone’s gonna think I’m a freak!”

Mabel groaned and huffed a sigh. “Alright, if you want me too so bad. Come on, the lighting at my desk is better, let’s give you a makeover… no, a MANover!” Mabel playfully punched her brother in the arm, a little harder than she’d meant to, and dragged him out of the bathroom. “I’m going to make you look so awesome Dipper. How do you feel about mascara…?” She never got to make her brother over, and she was going to get ALL she could get out of it.

“Please no _eye_ stuff.” Dipper said, shuddering. “How do you stand poking yourself with that, uh, brushy thing?”

“Dipper, if you’re poking your eyeball, you’re doing it wrong. Trust me, I’m the makeover master.” Mabel snorted at her brother’s fear of something so natural to her. She sat Dipper down in the chair at her desk and put his hair back with one of her headbands. “Alright Mabel, let’s make a work of art.” She picked up a bunch of intimidating makeup products and used her hand as a pallette. Mabel’s parents were a little apprehensive about her wearing makeup so young, but she enjoyed makeup simply for the fun of it, and rarely wore it to school to impress others. She loved the way she looked on her own, and wasn’t being pressured to change anything. She just enjoyed using another medium on a human canvas. She applied some sort of primer over Dipper’s forehead with her finger and hummed softly to herself, working with focused precision.

Dipper winced at the foreign feeling on his face. “Is this stuff supposed to feel slimy? Ah-hey!” Mabel shooshed her brother by tickling his nose with a fluffy brush. She used a tiny flat looking brush to put...green stuff on his face? “Mabel, that isn’t my skin color. This isn’t _anyone’s_ skin color.”

“SHH! Don’t question the master. The green stuff cancels out redness, you dink. It’s all going to pull together.” Mabel blended out the redness concealer with a sponge; the effects had already started to show. She started applying liquid foundation over Dipper’s mark, practically beating him with the sponge to apply it. “Hey, hold still! I’ll put eyeshadow on you!”

“Mabel! No eye stuff!” Dipper screamed, trying to push her away. Mabel groaned and crossed her arms, stepping back and putting the eyeshadow away. She waited until Dipper stopped squirming to continue, being a little more gentle this time.

Mabel applied another layer of liquid foundation and finally set it with powder and a big fluffy brush. “Okay, Brobro, prepare to be amazed!” Mabel help up a little compact mirror so Dipper could get a good look. He now had a blank canvas on his forehead, not a red line nor a stray dot to be seen. “Do you like it? I can do your eyebrows too! Maybe a little contour….how do you feel about lipgloss?”

“Mabel, this is _perfect_!” Dipper said, grabbing the little mirror and tilting it so he could see better. “Can you teach me how you did it? I should do this all the time!” A part of him was sad that he had to hide a part of himself, but what else could he do? He certainly couldn’t parade his birthmark in front of all those people.

Mabel frowned. She understood wanting to cover up for their big day, but she felt like she just gave Dipper another thing to worry about. “Maybe later, brobro. I have to finish my face too, you know… I know I’m a totally amazing makeup artist and all...but the natural look suits you best.”

Dipper paused, looking down at his feet. “...No it doesn’t.”

In the bright pink guest room down the hall, Stanley and Ford weren’t faring much better.

“Stanley, I can’t do this.” Ford was pacing, clutching his trenchcoat. “I can’t go into a _synagogue_ wearing this thing, but I _can’t_ take it off.” The coat had been with him too long. It’d been with him since he graduated college… a gift. From Fiddleford. He’d never taken it off, not in over thirty years, not even when it turned black with filth.

“Ford, relax. Mabel and I already talked about that, and I think we’ve got an idea.” Stan said. He hadn’t started getting ready yet, he was still in his boxer shorts and a dirty white undershirt. Stan dug through his old duffel, trying to find a small plastic bag. He held it up to Ford, showing off the contents.

“...Safety pins?” Ford asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Mabel gave me these and some instructions on how to pin it. It’ll look just like a suit jacket, and when it’s over you can just take ‘em out.” Stan said, unfolding a piece of notebook paper with a few diagrams on it in colored pencil.

“Stanley, are you sure you ca--”

“Stanford. I put together most of a fucking _interdimensional portal_ with a third of the instructions. I can handle your goddamn trenchcoat.” Stan said, glaring at Ford. “Now come here and let me look at it.” Stanford stepped forward, stretching out his arms as Stan set to work, pausing every now and then to look at Mabel’s instructions. When he was done, Ford was amazed to find that Stanley had been right. It really did look just like a suit.

“Thank you.” Was all he could say.

“Yeah, sure. Put on a nice shirt and a tie too, at least. We have to look presentable.” Stanley had set his suit set out already, along with a nice blue bowtie and pocket square to match.

“Oh god, I forgot to pack a-- umph.” Ford was cut off as a pale blue button up shirt was tossed his way, followed by a very nice brown silk tie.

“I knew you’d _forget_ , and need to borrow something, so here. I didn’t bring extra shoes, your boots are going to have to work.” Stan said, struggling to fit into his waist cincher. He grunted when all of his belly fat was sucked in and his shapewear finally fit. Stan pulled on his clothes with care, always doing whatever he could to look nice when he had the opportunity and the privilege to do so. Years and years of filthy clothes and greasy hair, of not having access to a proper shower or even a toothbrush, of feeling the cold stares of passersby, made him relish the feeling of getting dolled up.

“...You look nice.” Ford said, before slipping into the closet to change his clothes. He hated the way his sweater caught on puckered scars, raised just above the surrounding skin, but more than that he _hated_ what he’d been foolish enough to tattoo on himself so many years ago.

Bill Cipher’s image had been tattooed almost everywhere, on his arms, shoulders, on his back. A constant reminder that he was _watching_ , that Ford had been blind enough to follow him.

He’d hated it so much he’d taken a knife to his skin and tried to carve out the tattoos, one by one.

It didn’t matter that most of _those_ scars were covered by ones that he’d received journeying across the multiverse, from monsters and criminals, from actual injuries. No, it was the ones he’d inflicted on himself that he hated the most. A constant reminder of his past failings, and a constant reminder of the state of his soul.

Stanley shook his head when Stanford hid to change his clothes. They both had gotten older, and it was obvious that Ford was much more fit than Stan. What did he have to be shy about? Bodies change. Even if it was something as mundane as scars, Ford was a smart guy; he could piece together that Stan would have more than a few after a decade of homelessness. He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a fistful of bobby pins, and carefully pinned his yarmulke to his hair. This was an important day for Dipper and Mabel, and even though the thought of wearing religious attire again made every bone in Stan’s body want to scream, he’d do it for them.

Stan took a quick look in the mirror, just to make sure everything was in the right place, and froze. Christ, Ford had been _right_ all those weeks ago. He really did look like a poorer, _fatter_ version of dad. Well… those hadn’t been his exact words, but they still stung. He turned away, pushing the thought from his mind.

Once Ford emerged from the closet all dressed up, Stanley looked him over with a little grin. "Look at you, see what a change of clothes can do? You don't look like some second rate action movie extra anymore. But don't take this as an excuse to raid my closet without askin'." Stan felt a little proud to see change in his brother's appearance, like he actually took care of himself for once. Thanks to his handiwork, the tattered edges of Ford’s trenchcoat were hidden, and his shirt and tie made him look cleaner, a bit more like the weird but wholesome know-it-all Ford had been over thirty years ago, and a bit less like the threatening yet nervous space nerd he was now.

Ford gave Stan a little smile, before grabbing his own yarmulke and pinning it in place.

“You really think I look nice?” Ford asked, clasping his hands behind his back.

"We're identical, you can't look bad." Stanley joked, elbowing him. He saw Ford's unamusement and sighed, "Yeesh, you're sensitive. Yes, you look nice. If you put some effort into how you look, you'll be surprised with the results."

“I just hope people will be paying more attention to Dipper than they will to me.” Ford could hear it now, “ _did you see that six fingered freak at Dipper and Mabel’s bar/bat mitzvah? Who was he?_ " He couldn’t detract the attention away from them. Not on their big day.

"As long as you don't pull any of your crazy geek weapons out, I don't think anyone will notice another old man, six fingers or not." Stanley said with a wave of his hand. "Are you ready to go now? I think Sherman and Alexandria are waiting on us." Ford gave a curt nod, pausing to adjust the knife he had concealed under his pants leg, and walked out the door. Having _that_ fall out during  the ceremony would be a disaster.

Downstairs, Alexandria and Sherman were waiting with a camera, wanting to capture everything, from the moment the kids come down the staircase. Alexandria was wearing a knee length light blue dress, with wide shoulder straps and an elegant and modest neckline. A plum sash that matched her heels was tied around her waist. Sherman wore a tallit over his nicest suit, the jacket a pale tan color, with a light blue shirt and a plum tie that Mabel picked out especially for the occasion. He readied the camera when he heard footsteps, but it was the Grunkles who came down first. He snapped a surprise photo with the flash on. "Oops! Sorry, wrong twins." He laughed to himself. “Hey, at least we’ve got a photo of you two now. Wanna see?”

"When you get the photos developed? Of course" Ford said, not realizing that every camera nowadays was digital, not just the ones in computers. “You have our address right?”

Sherman blinked for a second before it hit him. “Oh, right! You probably missed digital cameras. I can just show you now.” He turned the camera around so the screen faced Ford. “It’s all digital, see? The photos are saved to an SD card, kind of like a tiny floppy disc, and you can transfer them to any device with an SD slot. They hold anywhere from 8 gigabytes of data to 200.”

“200 _gigabytes_?! For _photographs_? The data from the _moon landing_ was recorded on… what 150 megabytes? I think?” Sherman smirked at Ford, turned off the camera, and ejected the SD card.

“They’re also about this big.” He said, winking. He loved working to help build the best computers on the market, but sometimes he missed being able to impress people with the little things about technology.

Ford took the card delicately to inspect it, adjusting his glasses as if it would give him a better look. "This is astounding, Sherman! I’ve honestly never seen anything like it, much less from a dimension like ours." There was something strange and foreign about how social this dimension was in comparison to so many others, but after so long, it was beginning to feel comforting to Ford again.

Alexandria took the SD card back from Ford and popped it back in the slot. "Do you want to try and take a picture? They make it so easy, anyone can call themselves a photographer." She handed over the amazingly small camera. Between the camera’s size and Ford’s extra fingers, holding it was more than a little difficult at first. "You just press and hold the shutter button and the flash is automatic. It records video as well, but the quality isn't as good on this camera.”

“Of course, thank you. Uh, Stanley, stand next to Sherman?” When Stan complied, rolling his eyes a bit at how easily impressed Ford was, Ford raised the camera and pressed the shutter button. for him

The picture actually came out okay. Stan had decided to make a silly face at the last minute, sticking out his tongue and putting rabbit ears over Sherman’s head, but the photo itself looked nice. Not perfect, but better than anything else Ford had ever taken.

Tiny footsteps were heard, and Ford nearly dropped the camera trying to hand it back to Sherman before the kids got downstairs. Stan and Ford scrambled to get out of the way, and Alexandria was beaming already, waiting to see her two beautiful children.

Mabel came down first, looking like a princess. Her hair was gathered in a side ponytail, an explosion of curls, and decorated with sparkly barrettes. Her dress was something she had picked up at a thrift store and given new life, a blue and violet sequined bodice with a flared out skirt, about as fluffy as she could possibly make it. She had a pretty ribbon tied in a bow around her waist to match her mother’s. She did some subtle makeup, a little lip color and some blush, looking grown up but not too much so. She was beaming and posing for the camera, knowing very well that she looks good.

Dipper followed his sister, wearing a very expensive looking suit, a rich dark blue color, tailored perfectly for him, and a tallit. His tie was chosen by Mabel to match everyone else’s, and though he protested, it turned out looking very dapper. His parents beamed, aiming the camera, ready to take a picture. Dipper’s slicked back hair caught the light as he walked down the stairs, and Sherman was about to press the shutter button when he stopped short.

Dipper’s birthmark was gone. Everyone’s face went blank, Sherman nearly dropped the camera. Dipper suddenly froze, sure that he’d messed something up already.

“Dipper… what’s that on your face? Where’s your beautiful birthmark?” Alexandria asked, moving forward and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Mom, I can’t go up there with that thing on my face! Everyone will make fun of me!”

“Son,” Sherman said, worry on his face. “You’re a man now. You shouldn’t have to hide who you are. No one will make fun of you, I promise.”

Mabel looked ashamed, she had agreed to help Dipper hide his birthmark. She just wanted to make Dipper feel confident, but now she got the sneaking suspicion that she’d failed. “Dipper, you don’t _really_ need all of that makeup to look all grown up and mature or whatever. We all really like how you look.” Mabel took Dipper’s hand in her own and squeezed it.

Ford stood perfectly still. He knew what this was like. Sometimes there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t give to feel normal in his own skin, but he’d come to accept that he’d always have twelve fingers, and that they were an important part of who he was. But Dipper was so young, he didn’t deserve to feel the same way Ford had when he was Dipper’s age. Over the summer, Ford had tried his best to help Dipper be more confident about his birthmark, but apparently he’d failed miserably. He brought his hands out from behind his back, intending to say some words of encouragement, when something clicked in his head. He glanced from Dipper to his hand and back again, remembering how his own father taught him to always hide his hands, before he slowly knelt down to Dipper’s level, gently pulling him closer. Keeping one hand on Dipper’s shoulder, he took a small handkerchief from his pocket, and gently wiped the makeup from his forehead.

Dipper squirmed a little when Ford began to rub away the gunk on his face and turned red, embarrassed he had thought to do that in the first place. His uncle, _the author_ , had disapproved, what had he been thinking? But Ford simply pulled him into a hug, being careful not to muss up his nephew’s hair.

“You’re strong, Dipper. Stronger than I ever was. Be better than me, don’t hide what makes you unique.” He gently whispered, ashamed that he’d allowed his own insecurity to affect Dipper.

Dipper hid his face in his Great Uncle’s shoulder and hugged back tight. He felt worse than he did before Mabel put the makeup on him. “I’m sorry, Great Uncle Ford…”

“No, _I’m_ sorry. You’re a great kid, Dipper. And I should have done more to let you see that.” Dipper paused, taking in Ford’s statement, before smiling and hugging tighter.

Sherman resisted the temptation to snap a picture of this touching moment. He and Alexandria had never really succeeded to make Dipper feel confident about his mark, despite their best efforts. It was amazing to see Dipper had a role model who was so similar to him, someone who he could look up to, someone who understood him and what he was going through. When Ford and Dipper broke their hug, Dipper looked happier without his hat than he had in a long time.

“That’s much better, Dipper. You look so handsome! Stand in front of the staircase with Mabel and your great uncles, let us get a good picture of you!” Alexandria had to wipe a tear away, seeing her little babies all grown up, maturing, it almost hurt. “This is going to make for a good scrapbook, Mabel.” Alexandria said as they all gathered before Sherman to pose for a picture.

Mabel and Dipper stoop in front of Stan and Ford who place a hand on each of the littler twins’ shoulders. Mabel and Dipper smiled wide for the picture, and the grunkles smiled with sincerity, genuinely happy to be with the kids for such a milestone.

“Okay, one more. Say ‘something stupid’!” Stanley grabbed Dipper, lifting him up onto his shoulders. Mabel and Ford decided to pretend to start a boxing match.

“Something stupid!” They said as the camera flashed.

Alexandria giggled and leaned on Sherman to peek at the picture. “That’s a keeper. Stanford, would you get one with us and the kids?” She offered, she figured Ford would have fun playing with the camera again.

“Of course,” Stanford said, taking the camera and waiting for Sherman and Alexandria to place themselves in the frame.

Dipper and Mabel’s parents stood next to them, placing their arms around each other and squishing close. “Cheeeese!” They all said with a big smile. Stanford snapped a couple of pictures while the Pines family posed, getting plenty of good ones.

“Yikes, if we don’t hurry, we’ll be late!” Sherman said, glancing at his watch.

“To the garage!” Mabel yelled, dragging Dipper by the arm.

“Hey, you two gremlins don’t mess up your clothes!” Stan called after them.

Stanford and Alexandria followed the kids to their SUV, the grunkles following behind. “You two leave room for your uncles in the back, alright?” Dipper and Mabel crawled to the very back row of seats to make room for Stanford and Stanley. Before Stanford could climb into the van, Alexandria caught him by the arm.

“...Thank you.” She said softly, a warm smile on her face. “For what you did back there.” Ford was absolutely speechless, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Before he could think of anything to say, Alexandria stepped around him and climbed into the van. Ford followed suit, and they were off.

The closer to the synagogue they got, the more Stanley noticed that something was very, _very_ , wrong. While the rest of the family was chitchatting away, Stanford had taken to staring out the window, one hand on the door handle, the other twitching like mad, tugging at the pants leg that concealed his knife. Beads of sweat had begun to crop up on his forehead, his cracked glasses reflecting the twilight of the town, and his face was whiter than a ghost. By the time they’d arrived at the temple, Ford looked like he was about to either run away into the wilderness or kill somebody, whichever basic instinct won out first.

The Congregation Sherith Israel was beautiful: smooth tan walls, gothic-revival style architecture four stories tall, easy, stained glass windows, and a beautiful dome on top for all to see. It was by far the biggest building Ford had gone into since he’d gotten back, as well as the most populated. As the Pines family made their way to the front entrance, through a swarm of people, Ford fell to the back, a good ten feet behind the rest of the family, keeping his distance from the crowd and glaring daggers at anyone who came too close. Stanley slowly made his way back to Ford, gently nudging his arm.

“You alright?” He whispered. “What do you need me to do?”

“Please just stay behind me,” Ford whispered, almost too quickly for Stan to catch. He nodded and began following Ford.

The interior of the temple was exquisite. With its warm vibrant colors, and hand painted frescoes on the walls and ceiling, benedictions gold leafed in Hebrew, the creeping feeling that he and Ford didn’t belong there welled up in Stan’s throat. He pushed it back down, focusing on Dipper in front of them. He was here for Dipper and Mabel’s sake, after all.

As they made their way up the stairs towards the sanctuary, Ford’s heart nearly stopped beating. Every instinct he had was telling him to run, to get as far away from these people as possible before they decided to sacrifice him to whatever horrifying deity they were worshiping. The only thought that ran through his head was him trying to remind himself that this was a _synagogue_ , these people were Jewish. No one was going to kill him, no one was going to attack, he’d been in synagogues before and come out just _fine_ , the only god this congregation worshipped had no taste for human sacrifice, didn’t desire to instil madness and fear in the hearts of mortal men, and would have no interest in devouring his soul, quite the opposite, in fact. The only thing that kept him moving forward was Stan’s presence behind him.

Dipper looked back behind his shoulder to make sure the Grunkles didn’t get lost in the crowd. When Ford’s panicking eyes meet Dipper’s, he gave his uncle a little wave and a sincere smile. Dipper could tell that Ford was a little nervous, and chalked it up to being around so many people at once. He fell back to Ford, intending to walk him the rest of the way.

“It’s alright, Great Uncle Ford.” Dipper’s voice sounded miles away, and the sensation only made Ford panic even more. Dipper took his hand, and it was like a thousand needles had been jammed underneath his skin, but Ford didn’t dare pull away. “I know a spot near the back where no one ever sits. It’s near one of the exits, too. I can show you, if you want.”

At this point, Ford was too panicked to speak, but he nodded to Dipper, thankful that he knew an escape route. With Dipper as their guide, Ford and Stan were able to push through the crowd with ease. Eventually, Dipper brought them to a halt in a far corner of the sanctuary, where no one was sitting. The majority of the crowd sat closer to the stage at the front.

“No one sits back here, there’s a draft and it gets too chilly. That door leads to a bathroom and a fire escape. You’ll be fine, Great Uncle Ford. You’re the _author_ , you’re awesome!” Dipper said, giving Ford a tiny thumbs up. “I’ve gotta go, but I’ll meet you after it’s over. The party’s going to be in the Newman Hall.” He said, before darting off to go find his parents. Ford quickly took a seat in the pew, squeezing himself as close to the exit as possible, and Stan sat next to him. The rest of the family were aiming to sit on the front row, and gave a wave to Stan and Ford on the way to their spot. Stan was calm enough to give them a nod, but neither of them felt up for acknowledging anyone in the temple any more than they had to.

The temple quieted when everyone got seated, and the service began. The rabbi appeared and greeted the congregation, said a few words to bless the day and to inform everyone of the special joint bar/bat mitzvah they had to read for them today. The Torah was brought from the ark in a beautiful procession before Dipper and Mabel were called up.

Dipper stood up, forced some fake confidence and made his way to the bema to read before the sea of people in the sanctuary. Mabel stood and smoothed her dress calmly, following behind her brother.

Stan was caught up in a wave of dread and shame. Everything in the temple was reminding him of the life he lost in Glass Shard Beach, of baptist luncheons, the all encompassing heat of the Colombian night sky, of the teenager that could have been him, that _was_ him, booted from her home. Of crushing, suicidal hopelessness and firebombs. He didn’t belong here.

Stan reached up to tug a lock of hair that wasn’t there.

Dipper opened his mouth and began to read before the congregation. His Hebrew was a little shaky at first, but his dedication showed, and read with strong conviction.

Something in Ford snapped then. The ticking time bomb in his head struggling to choose between fight or flight had made a decision, and there was no stopping it.  


Dipper searched in the sea of people for his parents, and caught their eye.

Out of the corner of Stan’s eye, he saw Ford stand up so fast he almost missed it, and that was all the invitation he needed.

Dipper glanced over to where he knew Ford and Stan would be seated, just in time to see the back of Stan’s tuxedo as he and Ford slipped through the door. Dipper paused his speech for a moment, having to clear his throat, and hoped to himself that his Grunkles were okay. Dipper continued, knowing that the show must go on.

Stan was practically pushing Ford down the hallway leading to the exit, wanting nothing more than to run away and never set foot in another religious building again, but Ford whipped around, grabbing Stan’s wrist so hard it almost cracked, and shoved them into the bathroom Dipper had mentioned earlier.

“W-we can’t-- We c-c-can’t _leave_ Dipper’s i-in th-there _he’s counting on us--_ oh god--” Ford stammered out, shoving all his weight against the bathroom door to barricade it. The bathroom was close enough to the sanctuary that Stanley and Ford could still hear everything that was going on inside, crystal clear even through Stan’s hearing aid, like it was designed that way on purpose, so no one could escape the crushing feeling that they didn’t belong there. Ford sunk down to the ground, still leaning against the door, and unsheathed the knife he had concealed beneath his pants leg. His knuckles were white against the hilt, but holding the weapon made the panic a little less blinding, at least.

Stan panted, desperate to catch his breath, and stepped back when Ford pulled his weapon out. “Woah, F-Ford, easy there…. We’re here, we didn’t bail, we just need to calm down a little...we’ll be at the party.” He took deep breaths and ran the faucet in order to splash water on his face. Stanley knew well by now how to calm himself down when he really needed to, but Ford looked long gone. Stan got down on one knee in front of Ford and looked him dead in the eyes “Just breathe, Ford. We’ll get through this.”

In the sanctuary, Dipper finished his reading and returned to his seat. He glanced back and noticed his grunkles were still missing, and his heart sank with worry. _Where did they go? Is something wrong? Should I go check on them?_ Dipper tapped his father’s shoulder and whispered, “I’m going to the bathroom.” Sherman gave a quiet nod, squeezing his son’s shoulder. Quietly, ignoring the stares of the congregation, Dipper slipped through the sanctuary and through the exit he’d shown his uncles. Mabel stood and began her reading, her voice carrying throughout the sanctuary.

“I-I-I can’t-- I c-can’t _d-do this_ , Stan.” Ford stared at the knife, a thirteen inch blade, full tang, reminding himself that he wasn’t vulnerable, he could defend himself just fine with this. “Y-you saw how m-many pe-people were _in th-there_. They-they’re go-gonna-- They’re gonna _kill us,_ Stan, they’re gonna sa-sacri--” Ford’s stutters faded into hitched and labored breathing.

Stan froze, memories of shaving his head, of joining the compound, rising to the surface. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and he swore he felt the same feeling of dread he’d felt all those years ago. A scene flashed through his mind; Ford, younger, tied up on a stake somewhere in a far off world, or maybe this one. Cultists-- Stan among them-- surrounding him as a firebomb dropped towards his head. He knew _exactly_ what had Ford so spooked, and it wasn’t the crowd, not entirely. Stan slowly inched towards his brother, hands trembling. When Ford didn’t jump away or try to attack him, Stan sat, back to the door, helping Ford barricade them in the empty bathroom. The sound of Mabel’s Hebrew filtered through the walls.

“We’re _Jewish_ , Stanford. No one’s gonna sacrifice anyone.” He said quietly.

“...They did good, at least.” Stan said, struggling to control his breathing.

“...Y-yeah… I-I’m proud of them.” Ford said, twirling the knife in his hands.

There was a small push against the door of the bathroom, making Stan jump to his feet and Ford lean against the door harder, and then a panicked knock.

“Great Uncle Ford? Are you in there? Is everything okay? I can’t get in.” Dipper’s familiar voice squeaked. Stan’s eyes went wide, glancing from Ford’s face to the knife in his hands. Ford seemed to have gotten the message, and hid the knife back under his pants leg. Ford took a deep, shaky breath, trying to compose himself, and stepped away from the door. Without anyone there to block it, the door swung open when Dipper tried to push it again.

“Whoa!” Ford’s hands were faster than lightning, his nerves putting him on edge had made him quicker than normal, and caught Dipper just before he hit the ground. “Are you okay?” He asked, his voice still wavering a little.

Dipper scrambled to stand back up on his own, smoothed out his suit, and adjusted his tallid. “Yeah, I’m fine, are _you okay_?” Dipper shut the door and looked at his two grunkles, hiding in the bathroom of a synagogue. “I saw you get up...are you feeling sick?”

“Y-you could say that…” Ford said quietly, kneeling down to Dipper’s level. “Go back to the service, Dipper. We’ll… We’ll meet you at the party. You and Mabel were _great_ out there, we just got a little anxious is all.” Dipper couldn’t really wrap his head around what was so threatening about a synagogue. At first, he’d thought Ford was anxious because of the crowd, and maybe that was still true, but then why was Stan in here, too? He looked just as panicked as his brother.

“Okay… its okay, Great Uncle Ford. I don’t think anybody else noticed you leave, except maybe Mom and Dad, but they’ll understand. I think half of the people in there are asleep.” He chuckled half heartedly. “You’re gonna be okay.” He patted Ford gently on the shoulder, and walked over to Stan to offer him the same affection. “Don’t miss the party, okay? There’s gonna be cake…” Dipper slipped out of the bathroom on that note and hurried back to the sanctuary.

Ford and Stan stood there for a moment, speechless, listening to the last of Mabel’s reading.

Slowly, Ford’s hyperventilating died down, and Stan’s heart stopped feeling like it was going to burst through his chest. Stan looked to Ford and started to laugh, quiet at first, but then he couldn’t stop. It seemed so ironic to him, after all summer of handling Dipper and his paranoia, the tables had turned. Dipper really did become a man, or so it seemed to Stanley. After a few seconds, Ford actually joined in.

“I don’t know what we ever did to deserve a family like that one,” Ford started, leaning back against the wall, still a little nervous but not in a panic anymore.

“But I don’t know what we’d do without ‘em.” Stan finished, leaning on the sink for support, one hand over his face. “We could go wait in the hall where they’re doing the party, its probably empty right now. I don’t think I want anyone comin’ in the bathroom and seein’ us like this. I’m up for the party if you are, poindexter”

Taking note from Stan’s book, Ford splashed some water on his face and leaned over the opposite sink. “I suppose I am. Though I haven’t been to a party in decades.”

“...I’ll stick with you.” Stan said, not meeting Ford’s eyes. “If you want.”

“I believe that would be best, but you don’t have to.” Ford responded, and shut the water off. “...Thank you.”

Stan paused. Ford had been thanking him a lot lately. For what, and why, Stan didn’t know. A part of him wanted to push the matter, ask him why Ford had suddenly decided to start appreciating him. But the rest of him had been put through the emotional wringer, and elected to let it be.

Stan and Ford peeked out of the bathroom and made their way to where Mabel and Dipper’s party would be held, thankfully they were uninterrupted on their walk. With nothing to do, and really nothing to say, Stan and Ford each pulled up a chair and sat in silence, waiting for the service to end. The hall had been decorated in all blue and purple, balloons and streamers everywhere. There was a big cake in the corner of the room, three tiers high, embellished with all kinds of beautiful frosting, sugar pearls, smooth and velvety looking fondant. There was a DJ table set up, and every table had a nice centerpiece and fancy napkins and silverware. Mabel and her mother had overseen the whole thing, planned out every single detail months and months ahead of time. The scene looked almost sad without people and lights and music, but it was at least peaceful, and a more than welcome respite after the past couple days.

A few hours later, the service ended, and people began to file out of the sanctuary, making their way towards the Newman Hall, where the party was being held. Sherman and Alexandria had zipped ahead of all of them. Stan and Ford slipping out of the sanctuary hadn’t escaped their notice, and it had them worried. They could be anywhere by that point, and if they weren’t in the synagogue it could be _hours_ before anyone found them in a city as big as San Francisco.

Alexandria burst into Newman Hall, Sherman in tow, and gasped with relief when she saw Stan and Ford in the darkness. “Oh, goodness, you guys scared us! Are you okay, what happened?”

“We’re so sorry, Alexandria. We didn’t mean to skip out on the service.” Stan began, standing up to address the couple.

“We just…” Ford began, but trailed off. Getting anxious in the temple was easy to explain to a child; it would never occur to Dipper that Ford and Stan had issues with religion itself. But Sherman and Alexandria were older, wiser. They would piece it together, and they likely would not understand, or worse, take it as an affront to their beliefs when this was not the case. Still, they deserved the truth. “Between the crowd and the service… We just got anxious is all. We had to duck out to avoid making a scene.”

“That’s a bit of a relief. Not to dismiss your discomfort, but we thought it might be something… _supernatural_ … that sounds kind of silly in retrospect, but after hearing your story last night, it seemed like a very real possibility.” Sherman said, wiping his brow.

“Don’t… Don’t worry.” Ford said, fidgeting with his coat. “Supernatural anomalies exist everywhere, but if you were to take a map of the world, and put a pin in that map for every anomaly that happened, you’d find a higher concentration in Gravity Falls than anywhere else. And the supernatural phenomena there have existed side by side with humans for thousands of years, _at least_. Granted, they’re still a threat every now and again, but on the whole things are peaceful. I probably should have explained that last night.” He said, scratching the back of his head.

Sherman and Alexandria both laughed, almost too hard. “Oh my gosh, that’s a relief! Well...for us at least. We’re both glad that you’re okay.” Sherman said with a grin. “The kids should be here soon, and guests’ll be pouring in, so you might want to make yourselves comfortable. It’ll just be some other distant relatives and the kids’ friends from school, nothing too intimidating, and definitely not as many people as there were at service.”

Alexandria scoffed. “Teenagers are _very_ intimidating, Sherman, don’t speak too soon.”

“Alexandria, I couldn’t agree more.” Ford deadpanned. The doors burst open then, making Ford jump a little.

Dipper and Mabel dashed across the hall and ran to hug their grunkles.

“We’re so glad you’re alright!” Mabel said, clutching Ford’s waist, staring up at him with big brown eyes.

“Of course we’re alright, kiddo!” Stan said, trying to play it off. He picked Dipper up and hugged him close. “Thanks for what you did back there, kid.” He whispered in his ear.

Dipper squeezed Stan back and smiled at him. “Its the least I can do, Grunkle Stan,” Dipper whispered back.

The guests started to filter in through the doorway, and Dipper and Mabel broke their hugs. Everyone was toting gifts wrapped in pretty paper and dressed in their finest. A gaggle of tween girls _squealed_ when they saw Mabel, and they all giggled and merged into a crowd together, talking nonstop like most thirteen year old girls do. Quite a few relatives on Alexandria’s side showed up, and even Dipper had a couple of friends who made it to the party.

“Come on he’s over here!” Dipper said, pulling a stout blonde boy behind him, making his way towards Ford. “Great Uncle Ford, this is my friend, Jason. Jason, this is my Great Uncle! He’s the one who studies the paranormal! He’s a brilliant scientist with lots of cool inventions, and he was probably involved in the Reagan conspiracy!” Ford jumped a tad, but knelt down to Jason’s level once he realized this new child wasn’t a threat.

“Hi, Jason. I’m Stanford Pines.” He said with a lopsided smile.

“Jason Crampelter, put ‘er there!” Jason stuck his hand out for a friendly shake.

Ford froze, hesitant to show someone named “Crampelter” his six fingers. But Dipper was here. If he picked up on his hesitation, he might get insecure about his birthmark again.

Ford stuck his hand out carefully, as careful as someone diffusing a bomb, giving Jason a firm handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Jason.”

Jason Crampletler completely missed Ford’s hesitation, and figured he had a thing about germs, or maybe just people. “Dipper told me lots of cool stuff about you. Did you really catalogue a bunch of paranormal monsters in a series of books? That’s pretty hardcore. Did you ever fight one?” This kid looked a little too stoked about the idea of fighting a supernatural creature.

“I’ve fought more than a few in my time, yes.” Ford said, surprised that this kid was so interested in his work.

Jason looked up at Ford as if he’s some mysterious rogue ghost hunter, intimidated but in a good way, hoping _maybe a monster shows up and I can see Dipper’s cool uncle in action_.

“Dipper’s also fought a few. In fact, he’s saved my life.” Ford said, trying not to take away too much attention from his nephew.

Jason’s jaw almost hit the floor. “DIPPER! You never told me that! What the heck, you’ve been holding out on me!?”

“Oh, he’s just modest. See, we were fighting this wizard that had shrunk us into game pieces. Uh, you ever heard of Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons?” Ford continued when Jason nodded his head. “So Probabilitor the Annoying _himself_ had come to life, and we were tiny DD and More D pieces, and Stan, my brother, and Mabel are trying to think of weapons and moves. Neither of them had ever played before, so it was a little difficult. But Dipper fought like a champ! He sliced some ogres right in two! Why, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him.” Ford said, dramatically.

Jason about had a freak out, punching Dipper’s arm in excitement, and shaking him violently. “DUDE! You’ve gotta tell the DD and More D group at school, they’ll flip!“

Meanwhile, on the dancefloor, Mabel was having the time of her life, twirling in circles with her girlfriends. She danced over to Stan and tugged on his hand, pulling him up from his chair, “I know they’re not playing old man music, but you should come dance with me! I know you’re good, i’ve seen you dance to Dipper’s BABBA CD when you thought nobody was looking. And you were great at ‘The Stan Wrong Song.’”

Stan hesitated as Mabel pulled him closer to the crowd of strangers dancing to new aged teeny-bopper music. “I don’t know, Mabel, I don’t want to outshine you.” He said with false confidence. He still knew all his old moves from the seventies, but nowadays? With all the twerking and jerking and… Something about snakes? Stan didn’t really care to dance much anymore.

Mabel gripped Stan’s hands and swayed from side to side, having him twirl her around now and then to display the maximum poof of her dress and her bouncy curls. In that moment, she was having the time of her life, looking up at her Grunkle Stan like someone would look at their hero. “Grunkle Stan, can we throw a dance at the Mystery Shack again next summer? The first one was a lot of fun.”

“Well, we did make lots of money with that dance...I don’t see why not. But no silly string next time, it took me hours to get that gunk out of my shag carpeting.” Stan said with a laugh. “How about we go find your brother? I have a little something to give you both, and I think that Ford’s got something up his sleeve too.” Stan winked, and led Mabel across the dance floor, searching for Ford and Dipper.

Dipper and Ford kept each other company by the punchbowl, the wallflowers of the event, while Sherman and Alexandria stood a table away to serve cake. Dipper waved at Mabel as she ran over, dragging Stan behind her. “Dipper, Grunkle Stan said he wanted to give us some presents!”

Dipper perked up at the mention of presents. “Really? You got us something?” He asked, looking up at Ford.

“Of course we did, Dipper. Now, let’s see, where did I put… Ah, there it is!” Ford said, reaching into his coat pocket, being careful not to undo Stan’s handiwork, pulling out two boxes, one wrapped in blue, the other in purple. Mabel excitedly grabbed her box, and Dipper took his delicately. They both unwrapped the paper at the same time, and gasped at the contents of the boxes.

Ford had given Dipper his own journal. Hand bound, with a blue cover and golden corner protectors. Sticking out from underneath the cover was a sheet of gold colored foil, presumably to decorate the cover with. Dipper glanced up at Ford, unsure of what to say.

“...I figured since you liked mine so much, you might want to make your own. The paper will never tear, I should know, I invented it myself.” Ford said, tightening his lips into a thin line, thinking Dipper hated it. Of course he would, he admired Ford but certainly didn’t want to be just like him--

Dipper lept up as high as he could, wrapping Ford’s torso in as big of a hug as possible. “Thank you thank you thank you _thank you_!”

Mabel looked in her box and let out a big gasp. Ford had given Mabel what looked like another journal, in a deep purple color, but the inside was filled with high grade sketch paper, and a sheet of foil for her, too. The bottom of the box was lined with very high end colored pencils in just about every color you could imagine.

“The, uh, the wax from those colored pencils will never smear. And your paper won’t tear, either.” Ford said, trying to support Dipper so he wouldn’t fall.

Mabel leaped up to join in on the hug, “ _Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!”_ she exclaimed, “Grunkle Ford, they’re so pretty, thank you so much, I love it!” Ford stumbled backwards a bit from the momentum, but lifted the two twins with ease.

Stan smiled at Ford, he enjoyed seeing Ford treat their nephew and niece with such love, even if he seemed hesitant at times. “Don’t break your grunkle kids, you still have another round of presents.” Stan helped the two kids hop down, and reached to pull some packages from the pocket inside his own suit jacket. He handed Dipper what looked like a squished down manila envelope, and a teeny tiny box to Mabel, both of the gifts with an envelope attached.

Dipper ripped open the packaging and pulled out a big puffy vest, like the same one he wore over the summer. This one was a little bigger, to grow into, and had a familiar pine tree logo stitched on the back, and a Mystery Shack patch sewed on the front. The vest had huge pockets, perfect to fit the journal in.

“For when you’re older. That’s, uh, that’s hand stitchin’ you know…” Stan said, trailing off. He didn’t like to admit to anyone that he knew how to sew, and that he was pretty darn good at it too.

Dipper tried it on over his suit, looking like a pretty big dork as the jacket sagged down almost to his knees. He hugged Stan as tight as he could. “I love it, Grunkle Stan, It’s perfect.”

Mabel took the dainty ribbon off of her box and opened it slowly. It contained a beautiful necklace: A fossilized bug encased in glowing amber, laced through a gold chain. Mabel took the necklace out to inspect it and tapped Stan on the shoulder. “This is so pretty, Grunkle Stan! Would you put it on me?” She turned and held her hair out of the way.

“Of course, sweetie.” Stan said, kneeling down to fix the clasp around her neck. Mabel looked down at the necklace, it was completely unique and special, a weirdly pretty gift for a weird and pretty girl. “Why don’t you… uh, why don’t you two open your cards?” Stan said, smiling down at the kids.

Dipper inspected the envelope attached to his gift, as his sister opened hers as well. They both smiled at the sweet cards, something definitely from the 89 cent card section at the supermarket, but inside was five hundred dollars, _each_. Normally money was given in multiples of 18, but Stan decided to go against tradition just this once. Neither of the kids had ever seen that much money from one card before, and neither had expected it to come from Stan, of all people.

“You kids put that money into a savings account, okay? Keep it close to you until your parents can take you to a bank tomorrow, and don’t let anyone else know you have all that on you.” Stan said. The kids were still gaping when their parents came over to inspect the commotion. When Sherman saw the amount of cash the kids had in their hands, he about fainted.

“Holy shiiieeeerman. Holy Sherman, that’s what I was going to say, none of you can prove anything otherwise.” Sherman glanced around the room. “Kids, who gave you all that? You need to make sure to thank them very well.” Both of the twins pointed a finger at Stan, still speechless.

Sherman gave both of them a pointed look, before Dipper and Mabel finally mutter a hushed “Thank you, Grunkle Stan.” They knew their grunkle as the broke cheapskate, how did he get all of this money, why was he giving the kids this _much_? The kids slowly moved towards Stan, as if moving too fast would make the money in their hands crumble to dust, and hugged him as tightly as they could, in awe of how much money there was in their hands right now. Stan held both of the kids tight, and he couldn’t help but shake a little. He had saved that money for the kids all summer, and put it aside in a safe place so he made sure he never touched it. It was part of the reason he tried to be so frugal with the kids around. Well… that and one other thing. When the twins finally broke away, they put their money back in the cards and resealed the envelopes as best they could. Mabel, lacking pockets, handed her envelope to Dipper, who tucked both away inside his suit jacket. The sensation of holding that much money felt strange and heavy, but he felt he could handle the responsibility. Stan took a deep breath, standing up from where he’d been crouched down, and noticed Sherman staring at him.

“Stan, can I talk to you for a second?” He said quietly, moving off to the other side of the table, closer to the wall and away from the hubbub of the party. “... You didn’t have to give them that much money, Stanley.” Sherman said, leaning up against the wall.

“Yes I did.” Stan said, folding his arms. “I’d planned on giving it to them from the moment they walked through my door. If they start saving now, and they need money in the _future_ , they’ll have it.” He wanted to provide the kids with a security fund, he knew how important money was in dire situations.

“Stan, as their father I appreciate it, I really do, but that’s still a lot of money. I know you just want to look out for the kids, but--” Sherman stopped dead in his tracks, suddenly remembering what exactly Filbrick Pines had been like in life. A strict, unforgiving man who was not easily impressed. A man cold enough to kick his son to the curb, a man who saw the remaining sons as a way to earn money and little else. A man so awful and demeaning that Sherman Sr had refused to let Filbrick near his child alone. “It must’ve been hard…” Sherman said quietly. “Filbrick was a jerk. A capital J jerk and I wish we weren’t in a synagogue or around children so I could use some stronger language. You didn’t deserve what he did, and you don’t deserve to be affected by it so many years later. Still, though… Five hundred dollars, for each of them?”

“I don’t want the kids going through the same things I did.” Stan wasn’t looking at Sherman, he was scanning the crowd, eyes locking on Ford, who was being led somewhere by Alexandria. “Heh, you know, after thirty years being a homeowner, I still live like I’m on my last dollar? I rake in 60 thousand a year, easy. Hell, I’ve got people buying bits of broken glass as Christmas presents! But I can’t stop ordering quarter sized plates at restaurants, I can’t stop taking all the condiments from deli counters and shoplifting tangerines. You know, once, things got so bad I could only afford the dollar menu at McDonalds about once a week? I used to date this girl, Carla McCorkle. Love of my life. One night we snuck into the county fair, and I won a week’s worth of groceries at one of the carnival booths. I was so proud of myself, it was one of the happiest days of my life. Now that I’m not shoveling every spare penny towards rebuilding the portal, I’m actually sitting on a lot right now. It’s not millions, not the fortune my dad wanted from me, but it’s a decent amount. I could fix up the Shack if I wanted, redo the floors, fix every leaky pipe, fix the sign on the roof. But I can’t bring myself to do it. I’ve got this guy who works for me, his name is Soos. Great kid, fantastic kid. Best handyman I’ve ever had, employee of the year, every year. He always stuck by me, and I’ve tried to do the same for him. And some weeks it's hard for me to write out his _paycheck_ , the one I know he’s earned and _then some_. I don’t want those kids to _ever_ go through that.”

Sherman was impressed, and moved by Stan’s story. It was admirable, what Stan did, he knew. Sherman had always been happy and thankful that he could provide his children with a privileged life, a life he felt his children deserved, and he was more than willing to extend the same provisions with his estranged uncle. “Stan, Alexandria and I could never thank you enough for all you’ve done for the kids. All they’ve talked about since they came home is Gravity Falls. They’ve never had that sort of...grandfather figure, or even really an uncle figure, and I didn’t either. Though I guess you’re kind of both. Having you, and now Stanford, in our lives is a blessing.” Sherman offered Stan a handshake, but got pulled into a big bear hug instead, causing Sherman to laugh.

Then he felt Stanley shaking.

_Is he crying...?_ Sherman held his uncle and gave him a big pat on the back. Stanley couldn’t begin to fathom the right thing to say. _No one over the age of twelve has said that to me in a while? No, no that’s stupid. I’m glad someone in this family doesn’t hate me? No, what? I’m glad you’re not repulsed by my horrible old man face? Nah, he’s not a little kid at the Mystery Shack. I’m sorry I didn’t try to connect with the family sooner? Thanks for makin’ me not feel worthless? Like I’m not garbage?_

Sherman just held Stanley tighter.

Ford kept fidgeting with his hands. He’d resolved to never hide them again, but a lifelong habit is a hard one to break. His chipped and uneven fingernails scratched and tugged at the skin near his thumbs, breaking the surface but not deep enough to bleed. Without Dipper and his friends to distract him, it felt like the crowd was getting thicker and thicker. Alexandria had been right, of course. There were far less people at the party than there had been in the service, but the number of guests was still about triple the size of a crowd at the Mystery Shack.

“Are you alright?” Someone’s voice broke through the panic beginning to creep in Ford’s head. He looked up to meet Alexandria’s eyes. She was holding two glasses of punch, offering one to him.

“I’m fine.” Ford said simply. “And thank you for the punch, but I’ll have to pass.” He’d been fine back at the house, with people he trusted, but in a party like this? With this many people? The only way he’d be eating or drinking _anything_ was if he made it himself.

Alexandria set one of the glasses down and sipped from the other. “I’m glad you seem to be feeling better. I think Dipper’s friends love you as much as _he_ does. You’ve really made an impression on him, he’s so inspired to do his own kinds of research… It’s refreshing to see him so passionate. Before the summer began, Dipper was in a bit of a slump. He doesn’t have as many friends as Mabel, and he would spend so much time alone, reading or playing one of his video games. Mabel used to have to drag him out of the house to get some fresh air. I’m glad they seem closer now, but going to Gravity Falls, and meeting _you_ is just what he needed.”

Ford furrowed his brow, frowning. “I’m glad I could help. I really am. But meeting _me_? Is the last thing anyone needs.”

Alexandria frowned right back, a hand on her hip. “Hey now, I _loved_ meeting you. And I’m sure it was pretty exciting for the kids. I don’t think you realize just how good with them you are… Dipper identifies with you so much, you talked sense into him about wiping off that makeup this morning, and just being himself. He looks so happy today, I think he’s forgotten about it. He thinks that people don’t understand him, but _you_ do.”

“...And you don’t understand me, or what I’ve done. It’s not good, Alexandria.”

“Stanford, I don’t think you’re this evil villain you’re making yourself out to be.”

“It’s… more of a Jekyll and Hyde thing…” Ford’s hands were beginning to tremble, panic taking over again.

“Well, I’ve only met Henry Jekyll, and he’s considerate, kind, and very intelligent. Maybe you were Edward Hyde at one point, but… I think you’re a version that managed to find the cure. That’s enough to win me and the rest of your family over." Alexandria reached for Stanford’s hand slowly, holding it with one hand, patting it with the other. “You should give yourself more credit.”

At this, Ford let out a dark chuckle. “Credit? Alexandria, the ‘cure’ that killed Hyde was performing self surgery, without an ounce of medical knowledge, and installing a metal plate in my head. I can’t function like a _normal_ human being without a weapon somewhere on my body--” Ford blanched, realizing the depth of what he’d just confessed. He pulled his hand away, turning to leave as fast as possible, to just wait outside on a park bench or, better yet, steal away into the night, never to be seen again.

Alexandria fished her key ring from her purse, grabbing Ford’s wrist and spinning him around before he could walk away. In addition to normal everyday  keys, it was armed with a pocket knife, mace, and a pink knuckle duster in the shape of a cat, “What kind of woman in an urban city isn't armed at all times? It’s a necessity, and I get where you’re coming from. People like us need to be on high alert at all costs. It’s an awful double standard, but when _anyone_ could be trying to kidnap you or _worse..._ ” She took a deep breath. “It might not be the kind of weaponry you’re talking about, but I know what it’s like to be afraid of everyone you encounter in new and strange places. I do what I have to do to feel _safe_.” Ford didn’t say anything, not at first. His breathing was picking up, he could feel another panic attack coming on.

“...You know how earlier I said I was fine?” Ford took a second to continue, focusing on trying to keep his thoughts from racing. “...I was lying.” Alexandria gave a quiet nod, gently grabbing Ford’s wrist.

“Just follow me.” She said, weaving them through the crowd. “Do you like open spaces or do you prefer to be indoors?”

“I-Indoors, just… away from _people_ …” Ford said, trying to focus on something, _anything_ , to keep him calm.

Alexandria swiftly led Ford out of the party, to a secluded hallway near the restrooms with a little bench and a water fountain. "I can keep a look out for you if you need some time alone." She offered.

Ford faltered, his hands still shaking, itching to grab the knife under his pant leg. There was something about Alexandria, something quiet and unassuming. Despite not knowing her for more than three days, her presence wasn't setting his instincts on fire, wasn't screaming at him to defend himself, to kill, be killed, or run. "Can... can you stay? You don't have to, I-- You can go back to the party... if you want." Alexandria nodded, and for a brief moment, Ford thought she was going to leave. But no sooner than the thought popped into his head did Alexandria sit down beside him, folding her dress neatly beneath her.

"Not a problem, Stanford." She placed her purse in her lap and relaxed, knowing if she had a calm demeanor, it would be likely make Stanford feel calmer, too.

For a long while, the two sat in silence.

"You know, it's funny..." Ford whispered. "I didn't used to get this bad. A few years, that's all it took. I adapted, I wasn't as... _scared_ of everything. I learned to compartmentalize, to ignore the bad stuff, the universe was so big I didn't have _time_ to process how it affected me. Then I got back... and now it's like everything _matters_ again. When I first stepped out of the portal, I felt _fine_ , better than fine. Like after _years_ I finally found a reason to hope again, but..." Ford paused, trying to gauge whether or not Alexandria would really be able to understand, or even remotely comprehend, what he was about to say. "I can't stand the smell of freshly cut grass. I'm scared to death of it. Stan has to warn me before he goes out and mows the yard, because the last time he did it without telling me I wouldn't come down from the roof. I hate the way nylon feels against my skin, when the sky turns green during a bad thunderstorm I get so bad it makes _today_ seem like a walk in the park. It's... little things, things that I never thought I'd notice." Ford's voice was barely audible. His mind was racing a mile a minute, trying to list all the magical items that Alexandria might have on her, items to make him open up, to tell her his greatest weaknesses, but none of them could explain why the instinct in his gut, well honed after thirty years, was no longer screaming at him.

Alexandria listened with her full attention and waited for him to finish. "I know a lot of people who have little things like that. For some people, sure, it's much more serious. You've gone through so many obstacles in your life and you deal with issues the best you you can, and I think you're very strong. I couldn't imagine the way I would handle myself in your shoes, it takes a strong person to be a survivor. You're a survivor, Ford."

Ford couldn't shake the feeling that he was somehow manipulating this woman, that he was luring her in with his own sob story.

"You... you would have found your way." Ford said. "The first dimension, the one I arrived in from this one? That was one of the hardest..." He was a little calmer now, no longer itching to grab his knife, his breathing a little quick but not hyperventilating. "You know, a lifetime ago, I would be telling Stan all of this? And, failing that, my... my good friend Fiddleford. But Stan hurt me, and I hurt Fiddleford, and I guess over the past thirty years I hurt Stan, too. Sometimes... I wish we could go back to the way things were... but I don't want to get used like that again... And I don't know how to fix things now. But... I'm glad I got to meet you. And I'm glad you stuck around..."

"You know, I once broke Sherman's heart. I was a really snotty girl in college. He was the sweetest nerd I had ever met, and I let him take me out on dates and buy me things, and I led him on. It took me a while to realize what I was doing was wrong, and after I broke things off I began to miss him. I felt so guilty, I was the worst. So I pulled on my big girl panties and I apologized. He didn't talk to me for about a month, and then suddenly we were friends, we started from square one. He's now my best friend and my husband, and I had to trust in him and myself, that we could communicate and make things right. That's really the key to any relationship, just being honest, and building trust. You have to have faith in the people you love."

"...I can't put my faith in anyone. Never again." Ford said. "The only person I really trust these days is Dipper. And I can't exactly vent to a thirteen year old."

"Well, I have faith in _you_. I have faith that my kids trust you, that you treat them well, and that you are good, despite your past." Alexandria said simply, looking down at her lap. "I don't know what made you put a _metal plate_ in your head--"

"You don't want to know that. Ever." Ford's voice was grave, and if he'd spoken to anyone but Alexandria Pines they would have fled.

"--But I _do_ know that it's over now, or at least under control." She finished. She opened her purse slowly, found her wallet, and produced a business card. "This has my cell phone number on it, in case you need to talk to someone who isn't my thirteen year old son." She chuckled a bit. Ford's fingers ghosted over the embossed lettering, a shiny metallic gold, with a little red vine on the left side. The card read, 'Dr. Alexandria Pines, Social Psychologist.' _So that's why I felt so...safe._

Alexandria gave Ford another smile and closed her purse. "I want to help you. Not only because it's my job, but you're my family. And if you aren't comfortable with that I could make some calls and have some recommendations for professionals closer to Gravity Falls. I can't guarantee that they'll believe you about the paranormal, but they'll at least listen." She placed a hand gently on his shoulder, "You don't have to feel scared the rest of your life. There are many people who care about you, and want to see you feel safe"

Ford didn't know what to say. A part of him wanted to run away. As much as he hated panicking at every little thing, those instincts had saved his life on more than one occasion. A part of him wanted to kick himself for not figuring out that Alexandria was a _psychologist_ of all things, a part of him still didn't trust her, didn't trust her motives behind getting inside his head.

"Just think about it. It's your decision, you don't have to do anything you aren't comfortable with...How are you feeling now? I hope I haven't upset you." Alexandria tried her damnedest not to over analyze Ford in her head, thinking of hundreds of ways she could advise him in coping with his anxiety and fear. But she had dealt with people who absolutely didn't want her help, and she knew better than to force herself on a patient.

She was surprised when a six fingered hand moved to hers, gripping it tight.

"... I think... I'll call you later, to make my first appointment."

Alexandria beamed, a dead ringer for Mabel's smile, and squeezed his hand back. "Great! We can have Skype sessions, I'll be accessible over the internet, anytime." She rose from her seat, still holding her Uncle-in-law's hand. "How about we go check on the party, see if they're surviving without us?"

"... Okay, but what is Skype?" Ford asked.

"Oh, it's like a phone, but on your computer, and you can see the person on the other line. I can just call if you prefer." Alexandria said, leading Ford back towards Newman Hall. Just outside the double doors, Ford paused.

"Alexandria?" Ford quickly wrapped his arms around her, and for the first time since they'd left the house, Ford felt completely at ease. "Thank you."

Alexandria was taken aback for a moment, but returned Ford's hug, rubbing his back like she would do to comfort her own children. "You're absolutely welcome."

The party had died down quite a bit. Dipper and Mabel were chatting next to a mountain of presents, trying not to fall asleep, and slowly the party guests filtered out of the hall. Sherman and Stanley sat at an empty table, chatting over a few glasses of punch.

“Alexandria, where’d you run off to? You missed some of Stanley’s… _unique_ dance moves!” Sherman laughed, standing up to hug his wife.

“Hey, those were _classic_ back in my day!”

Alexandria chuckled at the thought Stanley Pines dancing. "Stanford and I needed a little breath of fresh air, we… had fun, chatting together.” She kept one hand on Ford’s shoulder, silently assuring him that she’d never tell a soul about their agreement unless he asked.

Dipper and Mabel made their way over to the grown-ups table, and took a seat next to Stan and Sherman. "Grunkle Stan, I'm really happy you and Great Uncle Ford came to our party...thank you." Dipper latched onto Stanley in a sweet hug.

“Of course we came, buddy boy. We wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Stanley said, tousling Dipper’s hair.

“You did _great_ out there. I’m so _proud_ of you.” Ford said, placing a hand on Dipper’s shoulder. He wanted to apologize for missing so much of his bar mitzvah, but the nagging feeling that acknowledging that fact would only make things worse won over.

Dipper smiled up at ford, hearing that Ford thought so highly of him, that he did well, was all he needed. "Thanks, Great Uncle Ford." He’d understood why Ford was absent so much, he was aware that Ford got panic attacks, but knowing that his uncle _had_ been paying attention to him was the greatest feeling in the world.

Mabel sunk in her chair and sighed "Do you guys really have to leave tonight? I wish you could stay longer."

“I wish we could, too, Mabel. But we’ve got Soos and Fiddleford _and_ Waddles waiting for us at home.” Ford said, smiling a little. “And I’m sure Waddles will want to hear all about how you’re doing, especially once I nail down the blueprints for a device that lets you talk to pigs.”

Mabel giggled and hopped up to hug Ford around the waist. "Oh, Grunkle Ford, I know Waddles can understand me. He's almost as smart as you."

“Then I’ll be sure to tell him you said that once we get back.” He said, returning Mabel’s hug.

Sherman stood up from his seat to put an arm around Alexandria, enjoying the view of their kids having a good time with their family. "I almost don't want them to leave either."

“I know what you mean, dear.” She said, then turned to the grunkles. “We really did love having you. And if you’re ever in the neighborhood, be sure to give us a call.” Alexandria said.

Stan pried himself away from Dipper to get up from his seat. "We will, don't worry. But we probably should get going if we're gonna catch the bus back to Oregon.”

“Grunkle Stan, can we call you sometime?” Mabel asked, still clinging to Ford.

“Mabel, sweetie, their number is in our cell phone. Stanley is right, they’re gonna be late if we don’t hurry.” Sherman said, helping Mabel to her feet.

Mabel held onto her dad and slumped her shoulders "Okay, I guess you're right... But you better call us as soon as you make it back to the Mystery Shack! And when you get off the bus. And when you get ON the bus! Just call us!"

“Of course we will, sweetie.” Stan said, glancing at his watch. “But we won’t be able to get on the bus if we’re not there.”

Sherman grabbed his keys and ushered his family out of Newman Hall, with Stan and Ford helping to carry the kid’s presents, out of the synagogue, and onto the sidewalk, steering them towards where they’d parked. “Your duffel’s already in the back, you didn’t forget anything at the house, right?”

“Even if we did, we didn’t exactly take anything that we’d miss.” Ford said, climbing into the backseat.

Stanley buckled in next to Ford after checking to make sure the kids were buckled in too. "Alright, let's high tail it to the Greyhound station."

“Stanley, I will _pay you_ to never say the words ‘high tail it’ to my husband behind the wheel of a car again.” Alexandria said. “He’s a bit of a reckless driver.”

"How much?" Stanley raised an eyebrow leaned forward in his seat. The car lurched forward and Sherman nearly hit a trash can.

“Fifty dollars.” Alexandria said.

“He’s almost as bad as you, Grunkle Stan.” Dipper said, gripping his seatbelt.

"Fine, I'll take it." Stanley said, only half joking. "And I'm a GREAT driver, kid, good driving doesn't always correlate with traffic laws."

“Stan, in the past two weeks you’ve driven into a guardrail, hit a handicapped parking sign, scraped your car against the side of a parked truck, you hit the _house_ …” Stanford was counting on his fingers.

"That truck was double parked, he had it comin'!"

“The _house_ , Stanley. You hit the _house_. The _stationary_ house that you have _lived in_ for thirty years. And you hit it. With your car.”

Sherman snorted at the banter coming from the backseat. With the argument going on distracting everyone from his own bad driving, he made it to the bus station in what seemed like no time.

“You’ll call us when you get there, right?” Mabel said, hugging Stanley one last time before she had to crawl back in the second row of seats with Dipper.

“Of course, sweetie.” Stan said. “You call us when you get home too, alright?”

Ford opened the trunk of the van, grabbing their duffel bag with ease. “Stanley, do you have our tickets?”

“Yeah, poindexter. They’re in the side pocket.” A part of Stan wanted to stay in San Francisco with the kids. He could, if he wanted. He wasn’t banned in California. But as much as he loved the rest of the Pines family, he had his own little bit of family waiting for him back in Gravity Falls.

As Ford was digging in the duffel for their tickets, Alexandria caught his shoulder, and wrapped her arms around his torso. “I’ll talk to you later, Stanford. We love you, and we’ll miss you.” Ford froze, fingers clutching the tickets, and soon he felt Dipper wrapping his arms around his legs.

Sherman stood by Stanley, an arm around his uncle’s shoulder.

“It was great finally meeting you. The real you.” He said, smiling softly. “Thank you.”

Stanley and Stanford said their goodbyes, and turned to leave, pausing a few times to check that the Pines family was still in the lot outside the station.

The kids waved from the backseat window as their Grunkles walked off to their bus, and didn't stop waving until they disappeared into the Greyhound. Mabel reached for her mom's purse grabbed the camera. "Dipper, let's look at the pictures, I wanna see how good we look!"

This late at night, the station wasn’t very crowded, and Stanley and Ford were on their bus in no time. Ford took a seat next to the emergency exit, and Stan sat beside him.

“That was fun. Exhausting, but… fun.” Ford said quietly, only after the bus started moving. “We’ll have to invite them up for Thanksgiving. People still celebrate that… Right?”

“Yeah…” Stan said, remembering how his own meals tasted in comparison to Mabel and Alexandria’s. "Are you gonna cook?"

The Pines family made their way down the interstate in their SUV, with Sherman going at an appropriate speed now that they weren’t on a time crunch. Mabel and Dipper crowding around the digital camera, laughing at all of the candid pictures of party guests Alexandria managed to take.

“Look, look, look! Here’s one of Grunkle Ford and Jason!” Mabel said, pointing at the screen. Jason’s jaw was practically on the floor, grabbing a very confused Dipper’s tuxedo, and Ford was mimicking a swordfighting technique.  "It looks like Jason peed his pants."

Ford began taking the safety pins out of his trenchcoat, one by one. Stanley took both their yarmulkes and put them in his jacket pocket.

“I’m gonna miss those kids.” Ford said, after a while. He closed the safety pins around each other in a chain, and put the whole thing in his pocket. “We’ll have to get Soos to show us how to use that Skype thing so we can see them.”

"The what?" Stanley asked, "Please don't tell me you already know more computer crap than I do."

“Alexandria was telling me about it during the party. She said it was like… a phone, but on the computer. And you can see people on the other end.” Ford smiled faintly, and he briefly wondered if he should tell Stanley he was going to schedule an appointment with her. He knew Stan worried, especially after what happened when they found Fiddleford in the bunker. He absentmindedly ran his fingers over the business card in his pocket.

Alexandria dozed off in the passenger seat of the SherMobile, Sherman's free hand rested over one of hers. The kids found a picture of the whole family, taken by Jason after Mabel begged for a solid three minutes. She and Dipper were up front, their parents knelt down next to them, and Stanley and Stanford stood in the back, an arm around each other’s shoulders. The SherMobile swerved up a ramp, headed for an intersection on the highway. The kids leaned towards the side from the centrifugal force.

As Mabel stared at the picture, the front seat became illuminated by oncoming headlights. Dipper’s hand flew out in front of her face. She didn’t notice the sound of squealing tires filled the air, or glass shattering, there wasn’t even time to scream.

Sherman and Alexandria Pines bodies crumpled between the weight of their own car and the weight of the sedan that had collided with them. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading! If you like it be sure to let us know and you can comment below if you have any questions about the fic! Chapters 5 and 6 are coming very very soon!  
> (lord-of-vaginas-and-time.tumblr.com and greenllamajeans.tumblr.com)


	5. Stanley Pines Steals a Motherfucking Bus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9'13 14-15-20 3-18-25-9-14-7, 25-15-21'18-5 3-18-25-9-14-7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a hospital scene, and it gets a little gory. Also, the names of all or most of the medical supplies are completely made up. We want to be as accurate as possible, but we can't afford either a medical consultant or medical school, so we bullshitted our way through the hospital scene.

Dipper’s arm was caught between Mabel’s head and the driver’s seat.

The sounds of shards of glass falling was all he could process. Slowly, carefully, he slid his arm free. His sister was passed out next to him, her head hanging limp, her right arm smashed against the door, the camera cracked in her hands. Dipper’s arm felt like it was on fire, though to be fair he wouldn’t have noticed if it was. Glancing over it, he noticed his forearm didn’t look quite as straight as it was supposed to. He felt blood dribble down his cheek, from where the right side of his face had smacked into the back of the passenger seat.

The car’s engine was smoking, he could smell gasoline, hear the last few hums before it would either sputter and die or catch fire, he could barely hear faint breathing. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered one of Stan’s old stories, about how he’d gotten into a tough wreck, he’d told him to always turn off the car after a wreck, no matter what. Dipper felt like crying, he felt like clutching his arm and he felt like getting as close to Mabel as possible and never letting go. But he slowly unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed over the console, making his way to the front seat through hazy and blurred vision. He stumbled, he could barely hold on, he’d never been this hurt before. Not even after Bill had possessed him.

He placed one hand on his father’s shoulder, _oh god is that blood what happened is he going to be alright?! No Dipper, focus, none of you will be alright if you don’t **turn off the car** ,_ using him as a support to steady himself as he reached towards the ignition, turning off the car with a soft _click_.

No one stirred. It was only Dipper who was still conscious.

He had to get help. He was losing blood, and the pain in his arm wasn’t helping. He had to get to a phone, he had to get to the phone he knew was in his mom’s purse and call someone.

Alexandria's purse was caught on the gearshift, the clasp had come open in the crash, and the contents spilled out over the floorboards. Crouching down low, ignoring the gearshift poking into his abdomen, Dipper prayed that her cell phone wasn’t caught between the seats, and reached into the darkness, fumbling through chapsticks and business cards and pens. After what felt like an eternity, his fingers brushed over the smooth screen of her cell phone. It lit up at his touch, _thank goodness, it’s charged, it’s not broken._ He was getting woozy, black dots danced around the corners of his vision. His mind was getting hazy, he’d pass out any second. Who he supposed to call again? Who was on speed dial? Who’d always saved them in the past?

Stanley had almost dozed off on the bus. Ford was too agitated to rest, and his twitching leg was enough to keep Stan from actually sleeping. He was about to tell Ford to either knock it off or at least switch to the other leg, when he felt the old Nokia in his pocket start to vibrate.

Sitting up in his seat, he squinted through his glasses to read the caller ID, clearing his throat once he realized who it was.

“Hey, Alexandria. What, do the kids miss us already?” Stan asked, giving out a slight chuckle. The mention of Alexandria’s name had caught Ford’s attention, and he turned to face Stan, wanting to talk to the kids if they were on the other line.

“... _Grunkle Stan?_ ” Dipper’s voice, barely a whisper, choked through the other end of the line. The hairs on the back of Stanley’s neck stood on end. Something was very, very, _wrong_.

“Hey, kiddo… what’s going on? Where are you?”

“ _H-help… There was a c-car crash… we’re at the… loopy thing…_ ”

The phone went silent.

Then Stan heard the phone fall to the floor on the other end of the line.

“Kid? Kid?! Come on, Dipper, answer me! You still there?! _Where. Are. You_.” Stan was frantic now, and Ford picked up on it easily.

“What happened? Where’s Dipper? Are they alright?” Ford asked, grabbing Stan’s shoulders.

“Dipper said they’d gotten in a wreck, something about a loopy thing. Move.” Stan was on his feet now, trying to push past Ford.

“What are you doing?” Ford asked, moving his feet out of the way so Stanley could get by. Stan reached into the duffel bag in Ford’s lap, pulling out the memory gun and aiming it at the ceiling.

He fired three shots.

“Alright, listen up! We’re turning this goddamn bus around and heading back to San Francisco! Don’t get in our way, don’t call the cops, and no one gets hurt with this very _real, very lethal, science gun_.” Stan was screaming, pointing the gun at random people on the bus, trying to get them as far away from him and his brother as possible. “Hey, Ford? You think you can get the radio on this thing to pick up a police frequency?” The passengers were screaming, their eyes darting between Stanley and the three scorch marks on the ceiling left by the memory gun.

“Yeah.” He said, quietly. “You take the wheel, I’ll handle the gun.” Stan nodded, and handed the gun to Ford, knowing he’d be much more intimidating with it than he was.

“Everyone on this bus: Shut. Up.” Ford said, his voice as deep and booming as he could make it.

The entire bus went quiet. A man in the back shat his pants.

“You, bus driver man. Switch places with my brother.” Ford said, aiming the gun towards the bus driver. “Or else I’ll use this…” Ford paused, thinking of a more intimidating but plausible name for the memory gun. “ _Laser ray_ to blow a hole through your head.”

The driver pulled over on the side of the road and put his shaking hands up. He couldn't have been much older than Ford was, and his wrinkled face was washed white with terror. Stan took the wheel of the bus and sped down the interstate, in the opposite direction.

“None of you leave this bus, none of you alert the authorities, none of you tell _anyone_ what’s happened here today, and you’ll all make it home a little later than scheduled.” Ford said, keeping the gun hand trained on his new hostages, and setting to work on the bus’s radio with one hand. “Stan, when we get this thing patched into a police frequency, what exactly are we looking for?”

“Car crash, probably on an intersection or an exit ramp to the interstate. Dipper said something about a loopy thing.” Stan said, eyes on the road, doing some of the best driving he’d ever done in his life. “There’s a ramp between the synagogue and their house, I’m just gonna head for that until you say otherwise. We gotta get there fast so we can call an ambulance, or hope someone else finds them first.”

“Got it!” Ford said, clipping wires with his teeth in lieu of any actual tools, keeping the memory gun aimed at the passengers at all times. Stan pressed the gas pedal as close to the floor as he dared, weaving in and out of traffic.

He had to reach them in time.

It wasn’t long before they found the site of the crash, on the exact ramp Stanley thought it’d be on. The sounds of sirens could be heard in the distance, and for once Stan and Ford welcomed them. The first thing they’d seen to indicate that they were in the right spot was a small middle aged woman standing in the middle of the road below the ramp, waving her arms to get them to stop.

“Alright, Stan, go out and check if we’re in the right spot. I’ll hold the passengers here until you get back.” Ford said. Stan practically vaulted out the door, and nearly collided with the woman outside.

“Sir, I’m sorry about the trouble, but there was a really bad wreck on this ramp! I already called for help, but you’ll have to find another way around!”

“Lady, I don’t give a damn about the ramp, I just need to know who was in the wreck! Was it two kids? Twins? One with a birthmark on his forehead? Looks like the-- Looks like the big dipper?” Stan had the smaller woman by the shoulders, shaking her. “Please, that might be my _family_ on that ramp!” An ambulance was already at the scene, having come from another direction. Stan could see the flashing lights, hear the paramedic’s voices.

The woman almost shrieked "I don't know! There was so much blood...! I think there were children!"

“And you’re not trying to help them?!” Stan said, shoving past her, ignoring any answer she might have given, and running up towards the ramp. “FORD! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!” He called over his shoulder. He caught sight of the ambulance, of gurneys and medical equipment, letting out a breath of relief. They might be okay.

Ford pointed the gun back at the driver, picking up the duffel. "Turn around, get back on your route. This. Never. Happened.” He set the memory gun to read ‘the past twenty minutes’ and fired. When he was done, and the screams died out, Ford slowly backed out of the bus, and waited for them to leave before he went up the ramp. If this wasn’t the right wreck, he and Stan would just have to steal another car.

By the time he got up the ramp, a police car and two more ambulances had arrived on the scene. Two police officers were holding Stan back, away from the wreck.

"That’s my _family_ in there! My nephew and his wife and kids, let me through, god damnit!" Ford’s heart sank as he saw the ambulance lights reflected in Stan’s tears.

Paramedics could be seen pulling out two small children from the crushed vehicles, they looked limp and frail as they were placed on gurneys. Two other figures were pulled away, mangled and soaked in blood. _Oh god._

“Officers.” Ford said, tucking the gun into his trench coat before they noticed he was armed. “What happened? Are they going to be alright? Where are they being taken?”

"There was a head on collision between that sedan and the SUV. Someone lost control of their vehicle, and they crashed head on. The EMTs are assessing the victims, but I can’t tell you where they’re going to be taken until you can prove you are who you say you are.” One officer, the younger one, said, struggling to hold Stan down. Beads of sweat were dripping down her face, and it was taking all her willpower to stop herself from tazing Stan to stop his struggling.

Stan immediately pulled his wallet out, and showed his ID, and pictures of the kids. “I'm Stan Pines, Sh-Sherman and Alexandria Pines are in the-there, and their kids Dipper and Mabel, here's their picture!" Stan showed off wallet sized photos of Dipper and Mabel, a few included Stan and Ford in the frame as well. "They're my family, the _only_ family I've got. You’ve gotta tell me where they're going!” The ambulance sirens blared, heading down the ramp and towards a hospital.

“Sir, sir calm down. They’re being taken to San Francisco General Hospital. We can give you an escort.” The other officer said. She’d been on the force longer than her partner, and knew exactly what to do with family members at these kinds of wrecks.

“We… actually ran here. On foot. We don’t have a car.” Ford said, shifting the duffel beneath him, praying that the officers didn’t perform a search.

"I'll give you a ride in the squad car, we'll follow the ambulance.” The younger officer said, releasing Stanley from her vice grip. She walked over to the police car, opening the back door.

Stan had never been so eager to get into the back seat of a police car in his life. He almost held his wrists out to be cuffed, out of pure instinct. Ford climbed into the police car next to Stan, the duffel bag between them, and they were off.

With the sirens blaring, they reached the hospital in about five minutes, but it felt like an eternity.

The ambulances had gotten there first, and wheeled gurneys out. The twins shared one, their little faces splattered with blood, they looked eerily peaceful. Sherman and Alexandria followed, each on their own gurney. But by the time Stan and Ford arrived, the only ambulance left was unloading a fourth gurney, one whose passenger was already covered with a sheet and headed towards the mortuary, but that person wasn’t part of their family, so they went ignored.

“Alright, here’s a number for a cab if you need a ride back.” The older officer said as she parked the car. Stan and Ford didn’t bother to take the offered slip of paper. Stan just called out a thank you over his shoulder as he and his brother sprinted inside, trying to find a nurse, to find someone with word on their family’s conditions.

The waiting room was packed, and noisy, and the cold damp fragrance of Lysol masked the stench of blood and disease. Stan didn’t care, he just ran towards the receptionist, Ford following close behind.

“You! Yeah, you. You know where the Pines are? Dipper and Mabel Pines? Sherman and Alexandria Pines? I’m Stan, I’ve got my ID on me, you can check, please just tell me where they are! Are they going to be alright?”

The receptionist looked, frankly, bored, and took her time looking up the information. She’d dealt with too many similar worried family members to muster up proper sympathy. "Sherman Pines and Alexandria Pines are in the ICU, and the two children are in the ER right now, they'll probably be moved to the children's ward. But I can't let you go back without a doctor or a nurse escorting you."

It took every ounce of self-control Stan had to not tell the pale and gangly receptionist to go fuck herself. "Then get me a doctor." He said through gritted teeth.

Before Stan could raise his voice, a nurse popped out of the double doors on the far side of the room, saw Ford, and addressed the two men. "Sirs, are either of you Stan Pines?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m… We’re both Stan Pines. Stanley and Stanford Pines.” Stan said, almost too quickly. He pulled out his wallet again, showing the nurse his ID.

“One of the children from the crash is awake, and is asking for their...'Grunkles.' Said one of you would have six fingers. If you would follow me, I can update you on your family's condition." She said.

Stan grabbed Ford by the wrist and followed the nurse through the ER, but not before giving the receptionist a dirty look.

“Dipper has a broken arm and he hit his head pretty hard. We’re still trying to determine if he has a concussion or not. Mabel fell unconscious, and has a broken nose, but she’s responsive. She wanted me to come get you.” The nurse said, her pale green scrubs scuffing against the linoleum.

“What about their parents? Sherman and Alexandria Pines? Are they going to be alright?” Ford asked.

“I’m afraid they’re in a more serious condition. We have a different set of nurses and doctors work on them so I’ll have to go get some more up to date information.” The nurse said, guiding them to a small room and opening the door. “My name is Andrea, if you have any questions, send for me, or press the call button and a nurse will come as soon as possible.”

Stan’s heart nearly broke when he saw Mabel’s fluttering eyelids, Dipper’s prone and unconscious body, a cast around his arm. Andrea began tending to him once more, checking that the IV drip was still working. Mable spoke in a faint voice, muffled by fatigue and the splint over her broken nose.

“...Grunkle Stan? Grunkle Ford? ...I’m scared.” Stan was immediately by her side, his big hands gently holding Mabel’s tiny, fragile ones.

“Sweetie, it’s going to be alright. You’re going to be fine, you just hit your head, it’s just a broken nose. You’ll feel better soon, they’re here to help you. We’re not gonna leave your side.” Stanley forced a smile, but it didn’t hide the tears in his eyes.

Mabel’s fancy hairstyle was mussed up and matted, and her makeup all smeared. _She’d worked so hard on it, too, this was supposed to be a good day, dammit,_ Stan couldn’t help but think. Mabel began to cry when she saw the tears in Stan’s eyes. “Grunkle Stan, are you gonna s-stay here? Are mom and dad o-okay?”

“Mabel, I swear, your parents will be okay.” Ford said, kneeling beside his niece. “I will do _everything_ in my power to make sure of that.” The wheels in his mind were already turning, already thinking of a plan. He was no doctor, but in the past thirty years he’d learnt a lot from other dimensions. Ones with more… advanced medical care, which he hoped to be able to recreate.

“Stanley Pines?” Andrea tapped Stan on the shoulder, holding Dipper’s bloodied suit jacket in her hand. “Dipper was wearing this, we found two cards with quite a bit of money inside, you might want to hold on to this for safe keeping.”

“I don’t give a da-- I don’t care about the money.” Stan nearly kicked himself for coming so close to swearing in front of Mabel, but he’d never been more sincere in his life. “Shouldn’t you be helping Dipper?”

“His IV is working fine, his bandages are fine, he hit his head pretty hard: right now all we can do is wait for him to wake up.” Andrea said. “In the meantime, I’m going to get word on their parent's’ condition.” She slowly walked out the door, not wanting to disturb the two men in front of her. “I’ll be back shortly.” She broke into a run the second she cleared the doorframe.

“...Stanley, I need you to stay here with the kids. If Andrea comes back, tell her I went to the restroom.” Ford said after a long moment

“Grunkle Ford, where are you going? Are you coming back...?” Mabel faintly pleaded, gripping Stan’s hand as hard as she could.

“Of course I’m coming back, Mabel.” Ford sighed, unsure how to explain his plan to Mabel. “...Let’s just say… I’ve learned a thing or two about medicine in the past thirty years.” He said, taking hold of her other hand and squeezing it tight. “I… I love you, Mabel. I’ll be back. I promise.”

Mabel tried her hardest to squeeze back and winced. “I love you too, Grunkle Ford.” She pulled up her scratchy hospital blanket with a whimper. Ford gave her a small smile, before pulling his hand away. He reached into the duffel bag on the ground, pulled out the memory gun, and ran out the door, heading back to the emergency room.

He stuck near the walls, avoiding the receptionist, until he found a sign pointing towards the maternity ward. He sprinted down the hallway until he ran into a doctor.

“Excuse me, doctor! My granddaughter is about to be born! I’m looking for Sandra Jimenez’s room!” Ford said, the name of the Gravity Falls local news reporter rolling off his tongue in the lie.

“Oh, well I’m not sure where she’d be. But I just got done delivering a baby, so I’ve got some free time to- ugh!” The doctor grunted as Ford clasped his hands over his mouth, pulling the doctor down the hall, towards a nearby restroom, kicking the door open. Ford shoved the doctor against the wall, pinning his arms behind his back with ease. He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves for what he’d have to do next, praying that he remembered the incantation correctly, that the spell worked despite the metal plate in his head.

“ _Sllepslive ykoopslleps liveykoops sllepsykoops_ ”

And suddenly he wasn’t in his own body. Well, he was still technically in his own body, but he could see out of both his and the doctor’s eyes. When he thought to move one of the doctor’s arms, it moved, and when he thought to move one of his own arms, it moved. It was as if he inhabited two bodies at once. He shuddered, knowing that it had been Bill who gave him the spell in the first place, and knowing that its side effects were a thousand times worse than anything his own mind control tie inflicted, but he had to get into Sherman and Alexandria’s room somehow.

He took a deep breath, willed the doctor’s body out of the bathroom, and used his own body to barricade himself inside, hoping that no one disturbed him.

He’d need to focus.

Now that he was in the doctor’s body, and looking at his nametag Ford realized that his name was Abram Sanders, Ford was able to move freely throughout the hospital. He ran back towards the ER, walking straight up to the receptionist.

“I’m Dr. Sanders from the Maternity Ward. Andrea sent for me, the patient Alexandria Pines appears to be pregnant and they need my consultation on how to proceed. I’ll need her room number.” Ford lied as convincingly as he could, hoping that Sanders and the receptionist, Jessica, he noticed, were on amicable terms.

“Of course, Dr. Sanders. Alexandria Pines is in the ICU, room 35.” Ford sprinted past the receptionist, following the signs until he came to the ICU, bursting through the door, catching the attention of the team of struggling doctors and nurses’ attention.

“Sanders? What are you doing here?” Andrea said. “Neither of these patients are pregnant.”

“Andrea, I appreciate you going to get information on these patients for the Pines family, but I need you to leave now.” Ford said, pushing the small nurse aside. “Go back to Dipper and Mabel.” Ford stood over Alexandria’s body. Even without having seen the wreck, he could tell by the severity of her injuries that the airbags in the van had failed to engage. These doctors likely thought the case was hopeless, and were waiting to break the news to the rest of the family as gently as possible. Deep, long cuts littered Alexandria’s body, Ford could see a bright red burn mark from where her skin had scraped against the seat belt. Her head was the worst of all; she’d clearly flown through the windshield. He turned to face Sherman, who hadn’t fared much better. The steering wheel had saved Sherman from a lot of head trauma, but both of his legs were broken, likely crushed between the weight of the two cars, and the glass from the broken windshield had done a number on him as well. Ford had definitely seen and experienced worse, but he knew that without the proper tools, this wouldn’t be easy.

“Everybody in this room, listen up. I’m going to tell you what I need you to get me, and you’re going to get it for me. Got it?” Ford said. But Sander’s voice wasn’t as intimidating as Ford’s, he didn’t hold the same command over the doctors as he had on the bus passengers.

“Sanders, these aren’t your patients. You can’t be here!” Andrea said, refusing to leave.

“If I don’t do this, they’ll _die_ , I can’t let that happen! If you’re worried about a lawsuit, I can _fucking guarantee_ you that there won’t be one. Now shut up and get me some phenelon, radixodrene, and nouver.” Andrea hesitated, before something clicked in her mind, and she rushed off to get Ford the supplies he needed.

“Sanders, I don’t know how you came up with this shit but if it works…” She said, handing Ford three small bottles. Ford was silent, setting to work treating their wounds, wracking his brain for ingredients and chemical formulas, _anything_ that would help Sherman and Alexandria.

“Incredible, it’s almost like the lacerations never happened.” Ford barely registered one of the doctors say.

“I need stralon and neodol!” He shouted. He might have fixed the cuts, but he still needed to work on their broken bones, and check for internal bleeding.

“Someone get him some stralon and neodol! Sanders is on fire! Hey, grab Johnston from surgical, he’s gonna wanna see this!” A nurse shouted. Ford ignored them. As long as they weren’t getting in his way, and as long as they kept getting him the supplies he needed, they could strip naked and summon Bill Cipher himself for all Ford cared.

He had to save them.

Slowly, carefully, he sliced Sherman’s leg open, putting all the bits and pieces of bone in place, and applying a mixture of the neodol and phenelon to help set the bone, before resealing the cut with stitches and the stralon and nouver mixture. Sherman would likely walk with a limp for the rest of his life after a cut like that, but he’d be _alive_ , and that’s what mattered to Ford.

“Holy shit! Holy fucking shit!” Ford heard Andrea scream. He wasn’t paying attention to that. He was paying attention to the Alexandria’s heart monitor, he was paying attention to her face.

Her eyes were opening.

“Alexandria? Alexandria Pines, can you hear me?” Another doctor, Johnston from surgical, apparently, asked. When Alexandria nodded, Ford’s heart lept. _They’re going to be okay._ Sherman awoke not too many moments after that.

“.... _Where’s.... the kids?_ ” Sherman’s voice was a hoarse whisper, barely audible, but it was _there_. A few nurses crowded around the couple, filling them in on what happened, on what Sanders had done.

“Dr. Sanders, the fact that you got them conscious again is a miracle!” Andrea said, hugging Ford in Sanders’ body. “How did you know that stuff would work?!”

“Thirty years of experience. They’ve got massive internal bleeding. If they ingest a mixture of pronomic, verbacron, and xolon within the hour, that should get the bleeding down enough to do a successful blood transfusion and make a full recovery!” Ford couldn’t help but smile. He’d done it. He’d saved them, they were going to be _alright_.

“...Dr. Sanders… What… What the heck is xolon?”

Oh no.

God.

No, not now.

“Xolon? Maybe… Maybe you call it something different in this dimension…” Ford was racking his brain, trying to remember the chemical formula.

“Doctor… Did you say… This _dimension?_ ” Alexandria asked, her voice tiny and hoarse, but Ford ignored her.

“It… It should be two parts prosmanium, three parts rubidium, uh--”

“Dr. Sanders, prosmanium doesn’t exist. That’s… that’s not a real element.” Andrea said, looking at Ford like he was a madman.

“No, are you sure?! It has to exist, it’s atomic number 219 on the periodic table!” Ford was screaming, he knew what to do, thirty years in hellish nightmare realm after hellish nightmare realm had to have been good for _something_ he couldn’t fail now, _they needed him_.

“Sanders, are you feeling well? Atomic number 118 is the highest the periodic table goes, 219 hasn’t been discovered yet.” Andrea was looking at him, concerned. “Maybe the stress of working all night got to you.”

“No, no I’m fine, if we don’t stop the bleeding they’ll _die_ they’ve lost too much, oh god--” Ford was hyperventilating, he had to calm down, he had to think things through. There had to be a way to get prosmanium in this dimension, _somehow_. There was, in fact. He could build an atomic generator, yes, synthesize the element, he could just _make_ prosmanium he knew how. He would rebuild the portal and fling himself through it if he thought he could get back in time.

But Sherman and Alexandria didn’t have that much time.

He’d never make it before they died.

It was hopeless.

“Doctor, you bought them a few hours. Right now the best we can do is try another blood transfusion, make them comfortable, and give their family a chance to say goodbye. What you’ve done here could set the surgical field on the path to saving billions of lives! I don’t know how you did it, but you’re going to be famous!” Andrea had pulled Ford over to the side, hoping to calm the doctor down. Ford felt like he was going to be sick. Without a word, he willed Sanders’ body out of the room, running down the hall back to the maternity ward.

Getting pulled back into his own body felt like a punch to the gut.

Dr. Sanders was shaken, to say the least. The way he looked at Ford, the fear in his eyes, made something it Stanford’s gut curdle. Slowly, Ford reached into his pocket, pulling out a pen. With the hope gone from his eyes, Ford wrote down exactly the steps he’d taken to try and save Sherman and Alexandria.

Though he’d failed, the least he could do was make sure someone eventually figured out how to save them.

Set the medicinal field up for saving billions of lives.

But not the two that _mattered_.

When Sanders tried to leave, tried to run away, Ford pinned him against the side of the bathroom wall again. He pulled out the memory gun once more, and set it to ‘possession spell.’

Doctor Abram Sanders walked out of that bathroom a confused medical genius.

Ford stayed behind, too numb to move, until he heard a frantic knocking on the door.

“Poindexter, you in there?! They-- Sherman and A-Alexandria… They--” Stanley rambled a mile a minute, he knew that the Pines parents were awake due to some medical miracle from a maternity doctor no less, and that had his brother written all over it. “What did you _do,_ how did you-- Ford, you’ve gotta… We’ve gotta _go_.”

Slowly, Ford opened the door, completely drained.

“Stanley… I’ll… I’ll tell you how I did it later… Right now, you’re right. We’ve got to be there for them. We need to take the kids to say,” Ford’s breath hitched. “To say _goodbye_."

“Yeah, that’s why I’m here. Andrea came back and wheeled them over already. I came to get you.” Stanley said.

Ford nodded, his eyes glazed over with exhaustion and regret, and followed his brother to Sherman and Alexandria's room.

Dipper was awake, thank goodness. He was next to his father, as far forward in the wheelchair as he could get. Dipper’s arms were wrapped around his father’s torso, his body shaking with tears. Sherman had a tired and heavy arm over his son, idly running his fingers through Dipper’s hair. Something caught in Ford’s throat, realizing that this would be the last time this happened.

One of the doctors had helped Mabel crawl up into her mother's hospital bed, curled up against her despite the scary gauze and cuts and stitches. Mabel buried her face against her mother, she knew that Alexandria didn't have long. "Mom… does it hurt?"

Stan no longer held his tears back, he stood in the corner of the room and let himself cry quietly. Ford could see his brother’s body shake with silent sobs.

"No, honey. It doesn't hurt." Alexandria lied.

“You’re gonna come back, right?” Dipper asked his father. “You could… You could come back as ghosts… Ford could bring you back, we can… this doesn’t have to be forever.” Big wet tears were falling from his face. “Please, don’t go…”

Mabel peeked over her mother's frail body to watch her brother and her father. "It’s not fair. You can't _leave_ , Dad, it's not fair!"

For a long time, they sat like that, crying.

As Sherman and Alexandria got closer to death’s door, Stan helped Ford move their beds closer together. So they could be near each other in their final moments, near their children. Both Dipper and Mabel were lying next to their mother and father, too tired to cry anymore, numb from physical pain.

“Mom?” Dipper asked, quietly, his face scrunched with despair.

"Yes, Lamby?" Alexandria whimpered.

“R-remember when… At Hanukkah last year, you asked me to do the lamby lamby dance? And… And I said no and we got in-- we got in a fight? I-I’m sorry, mom… I-I’m so sorry.”

"Oh, Dipper, don't be sorry. Even though you're a man now, dance or no dance, you'll always be my little Lamby. I love you, and your sister both."

Sherman began to cry again, almost unable to catch his breath. "Mabel, Dipper, we're proud of you. You're so good."

Stan rushed over when Sherman's heart rate started to increase.

“I’ve…” Sherman gasped for breath. “I’ve still got a little fight in me.” He managed to crack a smile, despite himself.

“Stanford, Stanley. I need… I need you to do something for me.” Alexandria whispered. Ford was at her side immediately.

“Anything. You name it. Whatever it is we’ll do it, I swear it.” Ford was shaking, tears running down his face. He’d failed them, and they’d likely never know it.

“I need you two… to take care of the kids.” She whispered. “I know… You don’t think you can, but… I trust you. I know you two can do this.” Ford couldn’t speak, the thick grief in his throat wouldn’t let him. “I know you… think you’re bad… but you’re _not_ …”

Ford wanted to tell her just how wrong she was.

“I know that was you that got us awake again.” Her voice was soft and tiny, but unmistakable. Ford didn’t dare ask how she knew, how she’d figured it out. Her last moments should be spent on her children, not him.

“I will. I’ll take care of them, and I’ll… I swear, I’ll get you back. Stan and I will get you _both_ back.” And in that moment Ford understood completely what Stan had gone through thirty years ago. There wasn’t a bone in his body that wouldn’t go to the ends of this earth or any other to get these two back.

Mabel was sobbing again, almost hyperventilating. "You're not gonna die, mom, not forever! Grunkle Ford is going to fix this!" Alexandria ran her fingers through her daughter’s hair.

Stanley was gripping Sherman’s hand, almost too tightly, tears still leaking down his face.

“Stanley… I wanted to say… Thank you. For everything.”

Dipper gripped his father's hospital gown and held his tears back, he wanted to be strong for his family.

“Dipper, Mabel, we love you. And we love Stanley and Stanford, too.”

Sherman and Alexandria's monitors started to speed up, and Andrea reappeared, planning on removing the sobbing children to get a look at the parents. Stanley and Stanford managed to shoo her away for a little longer, to let the kids stay a little bit longer. Everyone knew there was nothing that could be done.

Slowly, Sherman’s hand fell.

Alexandria’s followed soon after.

The sharp tone of the heart monitor was the only thing that could be heard in the room after that.

Stanley scooped Dipper up in his arms, and Ford grabbed Mabel. Each twin clung to their Grunkle as best they could. They hid their faces, unable to bear looking at their own dead parents.

Stanley was crying.

Ford felt numb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading! If you like it be sure to let us know and you can comment below if you have any questions about the fic! The next chapter will be up very very soon!  
> (lord-of-vaginas-and-time.tumblr.com and greenllamajeans.tumblr.com)


	6. Makeshift Shiva

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 19-8-5-18-13-1-14 1-14-4 1-12-5-24-1-14-4-18-9-1 23-9-12-12 2-5 4-5-1-18-12-25 13-9-19-19-5-4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so we want to make it abundantly clear that neither of us are Jewish. So if we get something incorrect, feel free to let us know and we will change it. The last thing we want to do is offend anyone or spread false information. So please, let us know if we get something wrong.

Stan’s fingers were too fat to dial the number properly.

Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

Finally, he managed to dial the Mystery Shack’s line. Soos picked up almost immediately.

“Mr. Pines! Where are you? Are you alright? Mr. McGucket and I waited at the bus station but you never showed up!” Soos was worried and panicking.

“Soos… Soos I need you to take the Stanley Mobile and… I need you to take some cash from the register, grab my checkbook, and come down here. It’s an emergency."

"I'm on my way right now!" Soos said, grabbing some money from the register, a quick bag, and Stanley's keys and checkbook on the other line. "San Francisco, right?"

“Yeah, Soos… Just… Just promise me one thing?” Stanley felt tears prickling behind his eyes again.

"Anything, Mr. Pines."

“Drive _safe_.” Stanley slumped against the wall, hanging up the cell phone. Sherman’s house felt empty without its occupants, but he and Ford had nowhere else to go until Dipper and Mabel got out of the hospital, and the Pines' affairs were in order. Stan hoped against hope that Soos would make it all right. If _anything_ happened to him...

Stan walked around the empty house, trying to find Sherman's office, hoping those young kids, _oh god they were so young they didn’t deserve this oh god,_ had made a will. Eventually he came across their office, and luckily enough, Sherman and Alexandria were prepared for the worst. Stan found their will in one of Sherman's drawers, and sat on the floor to read it, not daring to take Sherman's office chair.

Ford wasn’t faring much better.

He’d tried and failed to save Sherman and Alexandria. He wasn’t going to fail those kids. Stanford Pines had sat in the living room, fidgeting with Alexandria’s business card, staring at the clock until visiting hours at the hospital started up again. The second they did, Ford was gone. He sat all day with the kids. None of them spoke, none of them wanted to. The coloring books given to Mabel by the hospital were all blank, the books for Dipper to read were untouched. Sometimes, their friends from school would visit, but Ford paid the other visitors no heed. Not even when Stanley came by around midafternoon.

Dipper and Mabel’s beds were pushed together, the only thing separating them were the pesky guard rails. Mabel held Dipper's good hand. They hadn't been this close since their summer began, and it hurt to see that death would bring them close again.

When visiting hours were over, it was only Dipper and Mabel’s tired faces that convinced Ford to leave their side. He had to let them rest.

Stanley worried about Ford, walking home alone through San Francisco. He had to remind himself that Stanford was not the same fighter he had been thirty years ago, Stanford could easily take down anything San Francisco had to throw at him. Still, Stanley couldn’t disguise the relief in his voice when Ford returned unharmed.

“...Ford?” Stan asked, over untouched and lukewarm ramen noodles. The dinner was just a formality, neither of them were going to eat that night.

“...Yes, Stan?”

“What did you do? To get--” Stan’s breath caught in his throat, and he had to force back tears. “To get Sherman and Alexandria those extra couple of hours?”

"You don't want to know, Stanley." Ford almost cut his brother off, he wasn't about to admit to the terrible things he had done only to have failed.

“Poindexter, _please_. Tell me.” Stanley asked, desperation in his voice. He needed something to latch onto as a distraction. Ford didn’t want to admit what he’d done… but at this point, he had nothing to lose.

“A long time ago… I found… this cave painting. The inscription spoke of a being with answers, one whose help came at a terrible price.” Ford’s breath was shaky, his voice hoarse. “I had hit a snag in my investigation of Gravity Falls… and I was _desperate_.”

“Oh god, you _didn’t_.” Stanley had a feeling he could tell where this was going. Even Stanley was smart enough not to go reading spooky scary shit written in blood or whatever on cave walls.

“I _did_.” Ford said, despair in his voice. “It’s the biggest regret of my life. It summoned… It summoned an ancient dream demon known as Bill Cipher.” Ford paused, almost too tired to go on.

“Well?” Stanley looked at him expectantly.

“He seemed _nice_ , at first. Said he was a _muse_ , that he chose one brilliant mind a century to inspire. Biggest load of shit I ever fell for. He was truly a _demon_. I was blinded by his flattery and games, and so… I struck a deal with him.”

“You did _what?_ ” Stanley was incredulous. He was about to go on, when he noticed Ford flinch. “Look, just… tell me what happened next.”

“He said he’d help me unlock the secrets of the universe… and in return, I-I… I gave him my body and my _mind_.” Ford’s hands covered his face, trying to hide, trying to avoid telling Stan this. He’d told Dipper as an act of solidarity, and even then he’d left out the _really_ bad stuff. Stan? Stan was old enough to work out for himself what really happened.

“...Ford you don’t have to tell me any more about this Bill guy.” Stan said. Ford’s story had abusive relationship written all over it, and Stan wasn’t about to make Ford feel uncomfortable or worse, guilty, because of that fact. All that was flashing through Stan’s mind now was the way his brother looked thirty years ago. Disheveled, afraid, sleep deprived and paranoid. "I still don't understand though, Ford. How did you get away with playing doctor?"

“Because a long time ago, Bill gave me a possession spell. An incantation to use to control the mind of anyone, one time only. And the side effects are a million times worse than the mind control tie. I knew how to save them, I _could_ have saved them, and whatever after effects the spell had would have been worth it.” Ford’s breath hitched, tears leaking down his face, still hidden by his hands. “Turns out this dimension doesn’t have the right ingredients.”

"You did all that to save them..." Stanley had heard what the doctors were saying about this medical miracle over and over. "Ford... You did all you could. You let the kids say goodbye, you're a hero."

Hearing _Stanley,_ of all people, say that made Ford feel a thousand times worse.

Soos arrived in San Francisco later that evening, his Abuelita's old floral luggage in tow.

“Mr. Pines? Dr. Mr. Pines? Are you two doods alright?” Soos said when Stan answered the door. “Where are the kids?”

"Soos...you might wanna sit down." Stan did his best not to let his voice shake. He sat down in front of Soos on the couch in the living room. "They were in an accident after dropping us off at the bus stop. The kids and their parents got in a bad wreck on the interstate..." Stan paused to take a deep breath. "The kids have a couple broken bones, but their parents died. The doctors did all they could to save them, but they lost so much blood, an’ transfusions weren’t working’... So we're going to have a funeral and take the kids back to Gravity Falls. Soos, Ford can’t drive worth shit. He acts like he can but he can’t. It’s been thirty goddamn years since--” Stan sighed. “I need you to help me move the kid’s stuff up to the Shack.”

"Mr. Pines... I'm so sorry." Soos began to tear up, wanting to hug Stan with all of his might. "I'll help you, dude, those kids are my family too..." Soos put a hand on Stan’s shoulder, and to his surprise, Stanley didn’t push him away.

No, instead, Stanley threw his arms around Soos, wrapping him in a hug. Soos gave Stanley the biggest bear hug of his life, gripping Stan like he couldn't let go. His heart sank when he felt Stanley shaking beneath him, and tiny teardrops fell on the back of his shirt. He’d never seen Stanley this torn up in his life. Not when the hyper realistic wax duplicate of Stan was destroyed. Not even when they almost lost the Shack and had to send the kids home early. Soos held Stan in silence for a while, letting his own tears fall. "Mr. Pines… can I see Dipper and Mabel? Tomorrow, I mean.”

“Of course.” Stan said, without hesitation. “Of course you can, Soos. We’ll all go together.”

"Good… thanks, Mr. Pines. I'm here for you and Dr. Mr. Pines no matter what." Soos gave Stan one last squeeze. "Are you dudes hungry? I was gonna stop at a drive thru but I wanted to get here as quick as possible."

“...Nah. We’re not hungry.” Stan said quietly, glancing at Ford. “There’s some ramen or whatever leftover from dinner. S’in the pot.”

Sherman and Alexandria's funeral was held a few days after that, once the kids had gotten well enough to attend. Mabel couldn’t find something black to wear, so Ford had gone out and purchased a simple black dress from a department store, as well as a cloak for himself. It fit well, to Mabel's surprise, but she hated how mature she looked in it. Dipper had no problem dressing for the funeral, and did so quickly, wanting to get it over with. The service had been short, traditional. Dipper and Mabel wouldn’t remember most of it. No, they were too focused on those last few hours spent with their parents to pay much attention to the funeral. When it was over, Stanley and Ford each grabbed a trembling twin, and Soos drove them back to the house.

“Grunkle Stan?” Mabel asked. They were in the car, Stan sitting between Dipper and Mabel in the back seat, an arm around each of them, protecting them. “...What are we gonna do about Shiva?”

“I’ll go ahead of you guys, to help Fiddleford prepare the house since he doesn’t know how. I’m sorry, kids. But we can’t afford to keep both houses up and running for much longer.” Ford said, softly. He was drained after the week’s events. “It’ll be okay…”

Dipper picked at the bright green of his cast. "So we’re gonna move back to Gravity Falls... When do we have to go back to school?" Being orphaned was bad enough, but being at a new school was a whole other traumatic experience Dipper could barely handle.

“...You don’t have to right away. I have a PhD, I’m more than qualified to homeschool you until you’re ready.” Ford closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, concentrating on not letting his voice break and hitch in front of the kids. “You can take all the time you need until then, okay?”

Dipper loved the sound of that. "You would really do that for us, Great Uncle Ford? What about your research...?"

“I’d drop it all in a heartbeat for you two.” Ford hadn’t sounded more sure of himself in a while.

Mabel stared out the window and gripped Stan's hand. "What about Mom and Dad's house...? Do we get to keep our stuff?"

"Of course, sweetie, we'll pack up your things, and put your parent's stuff in storage for you to keep... Your mother's aunt is going to take care of the house, I've never met her, and I don't think you have either, but we talked on the phone and she seemed to check out okay. You two get to have the house when you're older." Stan explained as simply and gently as possible. He didn't want to upset the kids any more than they were already. “We love you, we’ll make sure you’re okay.”

The Stanley Mobile pulled up to the house, looking dim and dull and dreary without Sherman and Alexandria. The kids hesitated to get out of the car once they were parked in the garage. Thinking of the SUV that was once in that spot made Mabel and Dipper sick. Gently, Stan picked Dipper and Mabel up and carried them into the house. “You two should get changed, then we’ll head out. Ford, you have money for the bus ticket?” Stan gently set the kids down, afraid that they might break.

Mabel and Dipper crept up the stairs to change into their only other outfits that weren't in boxes.

"Yes, I have the money right here." Ford tapped one of his trench coat's pockets. “I’ll just take a cab to the station.” He said, quietly, so the kids couldn’t hear. Stanley wordlessly handed him his old Nokia before turning around and heading up the stairs.

Ford braced himself, clutched the knife which now resided in his pocket, and left to hail a cab.

Mabel and Dipper were all ready to go by the time Stan made it upstairs. They each had a small suitcase packed, and dressed in comfortable and warm clothes for the trip. Neither of them had worn a smile in days. Stan knelt down, wrapping them in another hug.

“It’s gonna be okay, kids.” He said, keeping his voice as calm as he could. “It’s gonna be okay.

Stanley packed the kids up in the car, made sure they were buckled, and began their long drive back to Gravity Falls, Oregon.

Fiddleford was waiting for Stanford at the Gravity Falls bus station. He proudly displayed a bright pink sweater Mabel made for him before the summer ended under his overalls, and he tucked Waddles into Mabel’s Hugy Wuvy Tummy Bundle™. Fiddleford was still barefoot and fairly unkempt, but he seemed to have himself together more than Ford did. Fiddleford waved happily when Stanford exited the bus and whistled loudly with his fingers to draw his attention. "Over here, Stanford!"

Ford couldn’t help but give the man a light smile as he stepped off the bus, despite the situation.

“Did I get here in time? Stan and the kids didn’t beat me here, did they?” Ford asked. Atheism aside, one thing Ford would never do is mess with a burial or proper memorial procedures.

"I reckon you're right on time, Stanford.” Fiddleford said. “The house was real lonely without ‘ya. I’m sorry about what happened, truly I am, but I’m glad yer back.” Waddles snorted in agreement.

Ford knelt down to the pig’s level. “...Hey, Waddles. Mabel says you’re almost as smart as me.” Ford scratched behind the pig’s ear, trying to smile, but his face remained blank. Waddles kicked his chubby little legs happily and responded with happy squeals at the mention of Mabel.

“We should get goin’ a’fore they get here.” Fiddleford said, grabbing Ford’s hand and leading him down the sidewalk. Old Man McGucket holding hands with Stanford Pines, while toting a pig baby, was no doubt quite the sight, but Ford didn’t care. After the past week, he welcomed what small comfort Fiddleford could bring.

It was a long but relaxing walk back to the shack. Fiddleford fished a key from his overalls pocket and let everyone inside.

“Alright. I need all the mirrors in the house covered. There should be some black ribbon in Stan’s crafting room, I’ll need that too. I’ll set about finding the candle, and finding some low stools.” Ford said, trying to focus on the task at hand. “We have to get this right.” In Gravity Falls, no one messes with the dead and those who mourn them. Not anymore. Normally, Stanford wouldn’t be helping to prepare the house. But Gravity Falls didn’t have a practicing Jewish community, and Fiddleford didn’t know how to properly prepare the house, so Ford would just have to take his chances and do things a little out of order for once.

A small part of him wanted to botch it, on the off chance that Sherman and Alexandria’s ghosts would appear.

But if that happened, they wouldn’t be the same. Ghosts formed from a disrespectful death and burial were incredibly dangerous, unstable, and usually started out at category 7 or higher, only growing in strength after that. No, he couldn’t put Sherman and Alexandria through that, no matter how badly everyone wanted them back.

Fiddleford set off to work, following Stanford's instructions carefully. He covered every mirror he could find, and even the reflective surface of Stanley's old TV. He had some trouble finding little stools for everyone, but found chairs and cushions for those without a stool. He poked around Stanley's craft and taxidermy stuff until he found a spool of black ribbon and presented it to Ford as soon as he found it.

“Thank you.” Ford said, tearing it off in little pieces until there were four of them. “You haven’t seen a candle around here, have you? Even if it’s just birthday candles I’m sure we can think of something.”

"Lemme think..." Fiddleford stroked his beard until a lightbulb appeared in his head, and he ran off into the gift shop. There was an awful homemade scented candle for sale, and this would probably be its only good use. "It don't smell too nice, but it’s a candle." Fiddleford said as he held out the stubby thing. It was only about four inches tall.

“Well… We need it to burn for seven days, but I suppose if the Maccabees can make a day’s worth of oil last for eight, we can make this thing last for seven. We just won’t light it until it actually starts.” Ford said, hoping that the smell wouldn’t be too bad when the candle was lit.

This was turning out to be an awful Shiva.

Fiddleford made boiled eggs, bread, and lentils for everyone, and nearly paid the family his condolences, until Ford informed him that he’d have to wait until the next day for that, and how exactly he and any other visitors should go about doing so. By the time Stan made it home with the twins, everything was prepared, or at least as prepared as it was going to be.

Mabel burst into tears when she saw Waddles in the living room waiting for her, his belly exposed for a welcome home scratch. She dropped her things, getting on her knees to hold her pet. Later, Ford would swear that Waddles must have sensed her grief, because the pig nuzzled into her cheek and began licking away her tears.

Dipper took off his shoes and picked Mabel's things up for her. He took a seat on one of the little stools with a heavy sigh. "Thank you for putting this together, Great Uncle Ford." Stanford rested a hand on Dipper’s shoulder, squeezing it gently.

“Fiddleford did most of the work…” He said, his voice soft and quiet.

Fiddleford popped his head out of the kitchen, "Y'all let me know when yer hungry, Stanford told me what y'all should be eatin for supper so I whipped it up, don't want to make y'all get up."

Stanley kicked his shoes off and sat on a couch cushion next to Dipper, wincing when he hit the floor. _It’s a good thing I have to sit here for seven days, I'm not gonna be able to get up anytime soon._ He had to remind himself that he was doing this for Dipper and Mabel, for Alexandria and Sherman, to quell the way his heart ached for the home he’d lost in Glass Shard Beach.

Ford was experiencing no such hang-ups. Not anymore. He was running on a single purpose, a single goal etched in the forefront of his mind: _help the kids cope._ Dipper and Mabel could tell him to turn the memory gun on his own mind and he’d do it in a second. Not that it’d do much damage thanks to the metal plate in his head.

Once everyone sat down, Mabel lit the stubby candle sitting on top of the covered TV. She recited a mangled prayer in Hebrew, a prayer about the souls of loved ones living eternally like a flame, wracking her brain to remember every syllable. She wanted to pay respect properly, in a way her parents would be proud of. She sat back down next to Dipper and stared at her hands in her lap.

Soos and his Abuelita arrived the next day, to give their condolences and park the rented U-Haul outside, to be unpacked later. Though the door had been unlocked, and the gift shop’s bell removed, Fiddleford sat near the register, ready to instruct any visitors on how to offer their respects. Abuelita Ramirez brought the heaviest casserole dish in the history of mankind, and placed it in the kitchen after removing her shoes. She and Soos sat with the Pines for a while, Abuelita holding the children's hands and praying silently to herself.

“Thank you both for coming.” Stan said, the first to speak since the Ramirez's sat down.

 "I hope you do not mind, but Soos and I are praying for you at home."

“We appreciate it, Ms. Ramirez.” Ford said.

"You can call me your Abuelita." The kind old woman stated, despite being only about seven years older than Stanford, and took one of his six fingered hands in her own. “We are so sorry, for your loss.”

The third day, Candy and Grenda showed up, bringing sweets and comfort food. They simply sat with Mabel, allowing her to sob against each of them. Grenda braided Mabel's hair to relax her, and Candy petted Mabel's back. They even comforted Dipper, giving him hugs and making the whole family plates of food so they wouldn't have to get up to eat.

The fourth day, Wendy and her friends came, as well as the rest of the Corduroy’s, all of them dressed and acted somberly. Robbie was surprisingly the most respectful about the situation, though to be fair, the rest of his friends set the bar pretty high. Dipper didn't want to be upset in front of his friends, but seeing all of them show up to comfort his family brought him to tears. To his surprise, Robbie knelt down next to him, producing a black handkerchief he’d purchased from the local Edgy on Purpose. He certainly had more tact than his parents would have had, and he’d fought tooth and nail to convince them to stay at home, worried that their overly cheery demeanor would offend the Pines. Manly Dan brought four homemade stools, short and low to the ground, made with care, and set them up for the Pines and any guests who needed a seat.

Pacifica had snuck out of her house to visit on the fifth day. Mabel and Dipper were shocked to say the least, but Pacifica was welcomed just like everyone else, and she was very respectful. She sat between Dipper and Mabel, and allowed Mabel to hold her hand. She brought something fancy her family's chef had whipped up in secret.

“Kid, I know our families haven’t always gotten along, but thank you for coming.” Stan said, regretting ever being mad at Pacifica.

"You guys are nice to me… and you're my friends. I'm sorry about your loss." Pacifica felt ashamed of the bratty way she had acted in the past, and she wanted to be there for her only genuine friends.

Bud Gleeful sent flowers in the mail on the sixth day, not knowing or caring to know that it was considered taboo. Fiddleford had to hurry to find a match and burn them before the Pines saw and got upset. When Sheriff Blubbs and Deputy Durland came by to offer their condolences and a home cooked meal, they almost arrested him for lighting a fire during a burn ban, until Fiddleford explained the situation.

The seventh day, Lazy Susan brought stacks of hotcakes and pies, knowing that the most comforting thing in the world was breakfast food and dessert. Being the shortest day of Shiva, Susan came and went with quick but genuine condolences.

At the end of their seventh day, the Pines family walked out of the house to see the daylight for the first time during the whole period. The sun was harsh but welcoming. It was saying _it's time to move on._

The candle lasted the whole week

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading! If you like it be sure to let us know and you can comment below if you have any questions about the fic! The next chapter will be up soon!  
> (lord-of-vaginas-and-time.tumblr.com and greenllamajeans.tumblr.com)


	7. Apologize When You're Sober

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6-9-4-4-12-5-6-15-18-4 13-1-11-5-19 20-5-18-18-9-2-12-5 13-15-15-14-19-8-9-14-5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self Destructive Behavior, grief, and alcohol.

“Are you sure you wanna get back into all this so soon?” Fiddleford asked, trying to sit still on a stool as Ford strapped what appeared to be a colander to his head.

“I’m fine.” Ford’s voice was still hollow, he hadn’t been taking the death well. “The sooner we get back to work, the sooner I can find something to focus on instead of all _this_.”

Fiddleford shivered in the cold basement and held onto his seat with white knuckles. Something about Ford’s study was giving him the creeps. "Whatever helps ya, I suppose. Do we have to be doin’ all this down here?"

“Believe me,” Ford swallowed a lump in his throat, knowing full well what was hidden behind the tarps he’d put up. “If I could move the mind reading device to another location, I would.” _I don’t want you getting hurt by Bill again… by this room again._

Fiddleford took a shaky breath, "It's mighty spooky down here, Stanford. I can't imagine bein’ down here all day. It’s not exactly… relaxin." He eyes some sharp tool in the corner, the walls of blinking computers, and he felt a sickening nostalgia.

“It’s not. I’m usually in the third floor. I hate the study as much as you do. Please, Fidds-- Fiddleford. Just drop it for now.” Ford connected some wires and turned on the machine. “Okay, let’s see if this works.”

_Fidds._ The display flashed that name over and over, struggling to connect it with something. _Good work, Fidds, your computer looks fantastic! Fidds could you pass me the ink? Fidds, what's the matter? Fidds, listen to me! Fidds I lo--_

A tear slid down Ford’s face as he unplugged the machine.

“S-sorry. I’ll… I’ll have it turned back on in a second.”

"Stanford...? Did I do somethin’ wrong?" Fiddleford looked terrified, he wanted his memories, and he didn't want to mess up his chance.

“No! No, Fi-Fiddleford, it’s… You’re fine you didn’t do any--” Stanford couldn’t quite keep his voice from cracking.

"You used to call me Fidds. That was you."

“Please Fiddleford, I can’t deal with this right now, it’s too soon, please drop it. Let’s work on something else.” Ford begged, his hands shaking as he tried to reconnect the machine to the outlet. “Got it.” He whispered as he finally restarted the machine.

Fiddleford messed with his beard, untangling knots with his fingers and looking away. _Maybe that’s somethin’ I wasn't supposed to remember. That old man is crazy. Old man McSuckit! I just wanted attention. Tate, do you wanna go fishin? Why won't this dang robit work!_

“W-we u-used to _date_ , o-okay?” Ford said, forcing himself to not unplug the machine again. “We used to be lovers, I _can’t_ deal with those emotions right now, Fid-Fiddleford. I’m sorry, you’re not… You’re not crazy.”

Fiddleford turned pink and his heart was beating a mile a minute. "Stanford...I think I remember that. What happened? Did I do somethin’ wrong?” _Trust no one! I don't need you, Fiddleford! I don’t need anyone!_

“No! No, I-I…It w-was--” Ford fell to his knees; between rehashing where exactly he and Fiddleford stood and grieving for Sherman and Alexandria, the whirlwind of emotions got to be too much. “I couldn’t save _them_ … I couldn’t save _you_ …” He whimpered, so quietly Fiddleford barely caught it.

Fiddleford stood, removed the helmet from his tiny head, and knelt down next to Stanford, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Stanford, please don't cry...!"

Ford flinched at the touch, and took a few seconds to regain his composure. “I’m fine. Please, Fiddleford. Just put the helmet back on, we’ll work on something else. We’ll work on high school memories. What year did you graduate?”

Fiddleford rose from the floor and grabbed the helmet once more. "I can't recall… 1970… something..." _Your valedictorian, Fiddleford Hadron McGucket! I'm sorry to inform you that your application to West Coast Tech has been declined. Fiddleford, smile, say cheese! A banjo...for me? Thank you! Try Backupsmore University, I hear they have mostly bug free dorms! Hi, my name’s Stanford Pines… I guess we’re roommates... Dungeons Dungeons and more Dungeons? Why didn't you say so! Have you heard this here record? It’s far out! You used to have a brother? What happened?_

Ford stood perfectly still as tears slid down his face once again. _Oh god I failed Stanley too..._

Fiddleford looked pleased as peaches to relive these memories, the days he was smart, the days he was worth something. "Stanford...thank you." He began to cry as well, overwhelmed with joy. It felt like eating your favorite meal after starving for years.

“...Please don’t thank me.” Ford’s voice was quiet. “Let’s go on to something earlier. What was middle school like?” He felt like he was going back in time, imagining Fiddleford younger and younger. The farther away from Ford the better.

Fiddleford thought harder on this one. "I don't think I've ever thought about bein' a youngin’..." _Hick! Does he brush his teeth? I hear he's from the south, he must be stupid. Ma, I don't like it here. I miss our old home. Nobody likes me here. They’ll come around, darlin’ they always do. They never do._

They continued like that for a while.

On the ground floor of the Mystery Shack, Stanley halfheartedly spooned out some of Abuelita’s casserole onto two tiny plates. Mabel and Dipper sat at the table with two untouched cans of Pitt Cola.

“Please, kids. I know it’s hard but you gotta eat somethin. You’re wasting away.” Stan’s voice was quiet, overflowing with concern. He couldn’t lose these kids so soon after their parents. He set the casserole down in front of them.

"We're not that hungry." The two of them spoke in an eerie, monotone unison. They didn't get hungry. They didn't want to watch TV. Mabel didn't touch her crafts and Dipper stared off into space until it was time to go to bed, fidgeting with his cast. They were zombies, except Stan knew how to deal with zombies. And at least zombies had a sense of self preservation.

"Please kids, just try it, for your Grunkle Stan?” He sat between them, an arm on each of their shoulders. “I know you don’t wanna and I know you don’t feel hungry. But you’ve gotta eat something, even if you aren’t hungry. Even if you hate it, you’ve gotta _eat_.”

Dipper picked at his plate with his fork, and Mabel considered giving her plate to Waddles when Stan wasn't looking. She looked back to Stan's face, and the concern in his familiar eyes reminded her of her parents. Through watery eyes, Mabel took a tiny bite.

“There ya go.” Stan tried to give them a little smile. “I know what you’re goin’ through. I went through the same thing when I lost Stanford… I didn’t eat for what felt like weeks, I didn’t bathe, I barely slept. I was…” Stanley decided to spare the kids the goriest details of one of the darkest times of his life. “I didn’t take care of myself, and I almost didn’t make it.”

Dipper dropped his fork and almost shouted, "Well, at least Ford came _back!_ Mom and Dad are _dead!!"_ Dipper rose from his seat and out of his uncles comforting grasp. "You don't understand at all!”

“Dipper! Don’t say that! Mom and Dad are gonna be back! Ford _promised_ he’d find a way. He promised he’d find their ghosts if they left any!”

"Mabel, are you _stupid?_ They aren’t going to come back. No amount of- of journals and paranormal… _crap_ are gonna make them alive again, they're dead!”

“Oh yeah?! What about Blendin? What about _Globnar_?!” Mabel shouted back.

"Nothing is gonna work, Mabel. Blendin won’t help, Globnar is impossible, face it! Nothing ever goes right when we mess with that _shit!"_

" ** _Dipper PINES_**." Stan shouted, surprised at Dipper’s sudden aggression. “Your sister is _not_ stupid, lord knows what she’s talking about with blendins and globnars, but she’s not stupid! And _you’re_ not allowed to swear!” Stan lifted Dipper up like a sack of potatoes, careful to not disturb his cast, and carried Dipper up to the attic, whether he liked it or not.

Mabel sat at the table and cried, wiping her tears with her sweater and muttering to herself. "Y-you're _stupid_. I'm gonna get them back."

Stanley set Dipper down on his bed, taking a seat next to him.

“You mind telling me why you snapped at your sister back there?” He said, furrowing his brow.

Dipper crossed his arms and looked away. "She's wrong. Mom and Dad can't come back. Ford said he’d find their ghosts but he was _lying_.  People don’t leave ghosts if they have good funerals. People don’t leave ghosts unless they have an _obsession_. Mom and Dad didn’t have that. It was a freak accident...the only thing wrong was they didn't deserve it." Dipper held back a tiny sob, the rage in his heart right now was a more than welcome respite from the overwhelming sadness he’d been feeling of late. Yet the crushing feeling, the one that kept saying _I wish it were me_ , wouldn’t leave his mind.

“Dipper, you and I both know that when it comes to Ford’s geeky head, no one really knows what’s going on up there. Maybe he really _can_ find a way to bring them back. I don’t know.” Stan took a deep breath, and put his arm around Dipper. “Your parents didn’t deserve to die, I agree with you there. But you don’t deserve to, either. You gotta take care of yourself, buddy. And you can’t keep lashing out at your sister, it’ll only mess you up in the long run.”

Dipper took off his hat and leaned against Stan. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry I got mad, and I was mean to Mabel. She didn't deserve that. I'm a real jerk."

“You’re not a jerk, you’re just upset.” Stan said, pulling Dipper closer. “If you’re still upset, stay up here and cool down for a while, then come apologize to Mabel.”

"Okay, Grunkle Stan." Dipper flopped on his bed when Stan got up to check on Mabel, and listened to his footsteps creak down the stairwell.

“Mabel? Are you in here?” Stan asked, peering into the kitchen. Mabel had poured the sparkling water out of some glass bottles, and had a few stacks of paper piled next to her. Her dinner plate was empty.

“I’m writing to Blendin. Then he’ll go back in time and save Mom and Dad.” She said simply. “I’m not stupid…” She whispered, mostly to herself.

“You are _definitely_ not stupid, sweetie. You’re smart, and talented, and creative.” Stan sat down next to her, patting her back. “Sometimes when people get upset, they lash out at the people they care about. It doesn’t make the things they say right, and it doesn’t mean that what they say is what they really think of you. Please, promise me, you’ll never for a second think you’re stupid.” _Never think you’re just girl Dipper, Dipper with braces, dumber Dipper, don’t think that about yourself, please._

Mabel almost spoke, until Dipper appeared back in the kitchen, in… Stan's glittery orange tracksuit jacket? It hung down to his ankles and looked more like a dress than a jacket.

" _I'm Dipper and I was wrong...I'm singing the Dip wrong song... I'm sorry I was mean… Your ideas aren’t stupid… um… something that rhymes with mean."_ Dipper squeaked in a pitchy singsong voice, kicking his legs a bit in time with the song.

And for the first time in a week, Mabel laughed.

Some hours after that, Fiddleford grew tired of reliving memories of younger and younger versions of himself, and left Ford’s study to return to the surface. For a long time, Ford just sat there among the eerie green lighting, tears streaking down his face.

Eventually, something in his brain clicked, and he slowly left the room, heading back into the elevator. Once inside, he pressed the third floor button, intending to hole himself up in the basement all night. He’d been sharing a room with Fiddleford before the bar mitzvah, with him on the couch and Fiddleford on Soos’ air mattress, but lately he’d taken to the cold hard ground near where the portal had been.

When Ford got to the third floor of the basement, he knew that something was wrong.

It wasn’t much, a misplaced shadow, a small noise, barely audible, but it was enough to send Ford on high alert. He reached for the gun on his hip, unsure if what he was dealing with was a mouse or a cycloptopus, before rounding the corner towards where the portal’s control panels had been.

Dipper was sitting on the ground, hugging his knees, fumbling with the Infinity Sided Dice.

“...Do you… Do you think it’d be worth it?” He asked in a tiny voice. “If I rolled it, could Mom and Dad live? How many chances do I have?” Ford knelt down next to him, wrapping his arms around Dipper, holding him close.

“...You can roll the dice as many times as you wish. It could bring your parents back. It could do anything.” Ford paused, not wanting to tell Dipper he couldn’t roll it, hell, he wanted to roll it himself. But only as a last resort. “...It could even hurt you. That’s within the realm of possibility. And as much as I miss your parents, and as much as I want for you and Mabel to be happy, that’s not a chance I’m willing to take.” He slowly reached out and grabbed the dice from Dipper’s hands, putting it back in the case. Dipper buried his face in the crook of Ford’s elbow, tears soaking into the fabric of his trench coat.

It was a long time before Dipper finally calmed down enough to go back up the elevator to the surface.

By then, it was dark, and time for bed.

“You doin’ alright, kiddo?” Stan asked when he saw Dipper emerge from behind the vending machine, with flushed cheeks and puffy eyes.

Dipper simply nodded and wiped his eyes on his journey up the stairs. "I'm going to bed."

“I’ll tuck you in.” Stanley said, patting Dipper on the back. They walked up the stairs in silence. Mabel was already in the attic, still writing letters to Blendin. Stan neatly set them on the trunk at the foot of her bed, and paused, looking around the small attic. “You know… If you two ever decide you want a bigger room… or separate rooms or a different room… Let me know, and I’ll talk to Manly Dan about it. We’ll build it, and do it up any way you want it.”

"Really, Grunkle Stan?!" Mabel looked up from her letters, stars in her eyes for the first time in a while. "I could have my own room? Could I paint it?"

“Of course. I know you two lived in the attic all summer, but you're both gettin bigger, and unless Ford decides to break space-time again, this room ain’t growing with ya. I want you two to be happy here. So if you ever get to thinkin’ that maybe the attic isn’t for you? Let me know.” Stan paused. “And I promise, there are no more secret rooms in the shack with weird nerd carpets that will swap your bodies. Or creepy, most likely cursed, wax figures. And if you two like the attic, that’s fine too.”

Dipper didn't look too excited, he simply crawled under the covers and pulled the comforter over his head. He'd had enough commotion for one day. Stan paused, trying to remember something his own mother had done a lifetime ago, put a hand on Dipper’s shoulder, and gave him a little kiss on the cheek, before turning to do the same for Mabel.

“...I love you.” Stan said softly before turning out the lights. He’d meant what he said, of course, but actually feeling the words slip off his tongue felt strange. Unnatural.

Ford stumbled up the stairs, eyelids heavy, and felt his way around the vending machine and the gift shop, making his way to the kitchen. It wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with death. Hell, he’d been less worked up for friends that he’d known far longer than Sherman and Alexandria Pines. He hadn’t even shed a tear when he learned that his own parents were dead, though maybe he’d been expecting it then. The way Sherman and Alexandria had died wasn’t particularly gruesome, not compared to all the _shit_ Ford had seen in his lifetime. A car crash, bits of broken glass, _god Dipper and Mabel look so much like them_ , deep lacerations, their bodies were mangled, but not the worst Ford had seen.

No, it was the twins. It was the principle of the thing. It was the kindness their parents had shown.

Dipper and Mabel’s lives were completely uprooted by this. Sure they loved their grunkles, but they now had to leave all their friends, their house, their hometown, their parent’s _corpses, oh god he couldn’t save them,_ they had to leave it all behind and come live in Gravity Falls. The twins were thirteen, they should never know death and pain like this. What’s worse, Ford had known exactly how to save them, known exactly what to do, he’d brought people back from far worse injuries, he himself had recovered from worse, but the medical supplies in this dimension weren’t the ones he needed, he hadn’t thought to bring any through the portal, hadn’t thought to try to recreate any before it was too late.

Ford reached into his pocket, pulling out Alexandria’s business card, rubbing his thumb over the surface. The lettering was already beginning to fade, soon the card would be little more than a white piece of cardstock. But Sherman and Alexandria themselves, what they’d done for Stan and Ford… He couldn’t let that go forgotten.

Then there was the possession spell. It had been given to Ford by _Bill_ , of all people. It was the worst feeling in the world, knowing that Ford had succumbed and used it again, put someone through that horror. But he’d done it knowing that he could save Sherman and Alexandria. And he’d failed. And he was growing older, and soon he would be the next to die.

Ford’s hands trembled as he reached for the refrigerator, searching for something, _anything_ to numb the pain. _Dipper and Mabel, they’re just kids, they’ll wind up just like him, why, why why why why._ Six fingers slid their way around a mason jar of Fiddleford’s moonshine, almost slipping through the condensation. Ford took a deep breath, paused to make sure this was really what he wanted, and chugged the whole thing.

Stanley slowly walked down the steps, close to the wall so the floorboards didn’t creak. He saw Ford in the kitchen out of the corner of his eye. He almost turned in the other direction, ready to head off to bed himself, but he stopped short.

He could have sworn he’d heard Ford sobbing.

“Stanford? You doin’ okay?” Stan asked, afraid to raise his voice too high and risk waking the kids or Fiddleford. Stanford Pines only raised another jar of moonshine to his lips and chugged.

“Stanley can I tell you somethin?” Ford asked. His eyes were glassy and beads of sweat dripped over his brow. He was absolutely shitfaced.

“S-sure, Poindexter. Whaddya need?” Stanley said, pulling up a chair and gently scooting a few jars of moonshine away from Stanford.

“I-I couldn’t save them.” Ford slurred. “I did s-something I swore I’d never do and I couldn’t even save them.”

“Stanford, you tried your best.” Stanley said. “Come on, you’ve had too much.”

“I don’t care anymore.” Ford’s breathing was shallow and tears were prickling behind his eyes. “Oh god I can’t think straight, I can’t-- I-I just don’t care anymore. I don’t care if you try to manipulate me again, I don’t care if you hurt me, I don’t fucking _care_. I’m… I’m tired of running. I’m tired of running from the only people who ever wanted to be around me, I’m tired of _caring_ that anyone who could ever stand to be _near_ me hurt me and used me. I just don’t _care_ anymore. I just don’t wanna die alone, oh god, I don’t wanna die alone. Whatever bad thing you do to me I deserve anyways. S-s-she was _wrong_ a-about me. I’m awful and bad and worthless, I couldn’t save them, I’ll rot in hell for what I’ve done and whatever you do to hurt me I deserve, I just don’t wanna die alone.” Stanford was shuddering now, tears were coming out in full force. “And if I had to take my pick of the people I could come crawling back to, I’d pick _you._ You… You didn’t… You always stood by me...It was my fault what happened I was going to leave you behind I-- Of course you tried to-- It was so long ago I was so _stupid_ to-- I-I can’t...  Please, Stanley, I’m sorry I-- please, please don’t leave me.”

“Stanford? Stanford, listen to me.” Stanley said, grabbing his brother’s hands and spinning him around so they were facing each other. “What happened back in high school was an _accident_ , I never meant to hurt you. I was… I was scared of what would happen to me, but I’d never try to drag you down.” The stench of alcohol was overpowering, and Stanford’s skin felt ice cold. God, he looked miserable. “Whoever, or whatever, _did_ hurt you? Deserves to be the one to rot. Not you. Dad was an asshole, Crampelter was an asshole, that Bill Cipher guy? _Total prick_. But I’m gonna tell you something I wish I’d heard a long, long time ago. The shit they pulled? What they did? That’s on _them_ , not you. It doesn’t define you, it doesn’t make you _worthless_.” Stanley’s fingers intertwined with Ford’s as he slowly pulled the man closer. “I’m not gonna leave you, I’m never gonna leave you, just please, don’t beat yourself up about what _they_ did. And don’t beat yourself up about Sherman and Alexandria. You did all you could, it was just their time.”

And suddenly Ford’s arms were wrapped around Stanley’s waist, and he buried his face in Stanley’s suit, sobbing harder than ever.

“Sorry, m’sorry so so sorry a-all this t-ti-time I-I thought y-you… I th-thought you’d-- Oh god i-if I w-was wrong a-a-abou’ you-- Wh-who el-else?” Ford could barely make coherent sentences between the alcohol and his own tears.

“You thought I’d done something awful,” Stanley said, realization dawning. He wrapped his own arms around the trembling Stanford, squeezing him tight and never wanting to let go. “Don’t beat yourself up about it…” He paused, eyeing the moonshine on the table. “Just… do me a favor?”

“A-a-anything, S-Stanley.” Ford was practically gasping for breath now.

“Apologize when you’re sober.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading! If you like it be sure to let us know and you can comment below if you have any questions about the fic! The next chapter will be here soon!  
> (lord-of-vaginas-and-time.tumblr.com and greenllamajeans.tumblr.com)


	8. Under the Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 23-21-2-2-1 12-21-2-2-1 4-21-2 4-21-2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is the last mini chapter for a while, all the rest that we've got written up so far are very long ones. There's still an alcohol mention in this chapter, but nothing beyond that.

Ford woke up on his side, blurry vision focusing on a small wastebasket from the bathroom that had been moved next to the bed. The room was dark, and musty, but despite the fog his head was in, Ford could recognize that he was in Stanley’s room. A blanket had been tucked up underneath his shoulders. Someone was gently shaking his arm.

“Stanford? You awake?”

“Mm.” He groaned, rubbing his eyes, thankful that he still had his glasses on. He couldn’t lose them, not again. Human optometrists are hard to come by out in the multi-- Oh. Yeah, he was back in Gravity Falls. It was over now. Ford let out a heavy sigh. He hated being awake. He hated sleeping too. Tears began to pool under his eyelids. Thirty years and it was his home dimension that would be the death of him.

“It’s dark in here, are your eyes open?” Their hand had snaked over his chest now, and Ford knew that they were just checking his breathing but it still set the corners of his brain on fire.

“Yes.” Stanford said, forcing himself to stay still, to not scream and try to get away. He was drunk, the person checking up on him was probably Stanley, god he hoped it was Stanley. If it was Fiddleford, or worse, the kids… No the hand was too big to be anyone else’s, this had to be Stanley... The hand retreated after about a minute of agony.

“Okay, you can go back to sleep if you want.”

The process repeated itself a few more times during the night.

At around ten o’clock, Stanford was woken up by a different voice.

“Hey, old man. You still kicking over there?” It was brighter in the room now, and Ford could make out a blur of red among the musty brown hues of Stan’s room. He blinked and reached up to adjust his glasses, bringing the room into focus.

“...Wendy?” Ford asked, his voice just barely reaching out past dry and cracked lips. “How long were…” Ford trailed off as he tried to sit up, his head spinning. He felt Wendy’s smaller hands on his back, trying to steady him.

“Woah, you sure you’re up for that yet?” She spoke softer than she normally did, thank heavens. Ford’s head was pounding against his skull.

“M’fine, where… How long have you been there?” Ford asked, voice cracking. Wendy gently slid a glass of water into his hands.

“About an hour. Stan had to make the kids breakfast, but he didn’t want to leave you alone.” The water was like a godsend, and Ford relished every drop of it. “You have a headache? I have some Advil in my purse.” Ford must have nodded, because the next thing he knew, Wendy had produced a small cardboard box from her purse and was placing it in his hands. “It’s unopened, dude. Brand new, I swear.” She said. Ford fumbled with the packaging, but it was better than attempting to bring himself to trust an opened bottle. _Stanley probably told her to do that._ Ford thought to himself. _God, why did I ever think what happened between us had been anything but an accident?_ He slipped two pills into his mouth, and a swig of water followed soon after.

“...Stan shouldn’t have brought you here. You’re too young to have to be doing this.” Ford said, slowly angling himself so that his feet slid off the side of the bed, facing Wendy. His mud caked boots scraped against the aging wood of the floorboards.

“Hey, I know more about this kinda thing than Soos would.” Wendy brushed a few stray hairs away from her face. “So why’d you get totally shitfaced last night?”

“I did _what_?” Ford blinked and reeled away in horror.

“Dude, dude, calm down. Shitfaced means _drunk_. Jesus, you’re worse than Stan.” Wendy paused. “You knew that Dipper and Mabel were upstairs. Why’d you chug five jars of moonshine?” Ford tensed. The girl in front of him was just a teenager, she was so _young_ , she shouldn’t, _couldn’t_ be burdened with what was supposed to be _his_ problems. But Ford knew well that she wouldn’t be satisfied until she got some sort of explanation. Wendy knew what living with and near people who were dangerous without meaning to was like, and she’d sooner slice her axe into her own flesh than let Dipper and Mabel get hurt, in any way.

“...Grief. Failure. And a bit of an existential crisis.” Ford gave as simple of an explanation as he could. “I’d never expose the kids to that. It just… got to be too much.”

“Really, that’s all you’re telling me? Cause _Stan_ told me you got pretty self-destructive last night.” Wendy said. “You’re lucky the kids didn’t see you like that. You’re supposed to be the one who’s there for them.”

“...What exactly did Stan tell you?” Ford said, recalling what he’d said and done in his drunken stupor.

“Well, you got drunk off your gourd, Stan found you in the kitchen, you were blubbering something about abusive relationships and dying, and then Stan brought you here.” Wendy said, shrugging. “Well, Stan was a little more specific, but that’s the gist of it. Look, I know it’s hard but you can’t do this to yourself…” Wendy blinked, realizing that Ford didn’t really seem to know what was going on. “Is this your first hangover?”

“It’s my first time experiencing one, yes. I don’t normally drink, and I recommend you never start as well: it messes with your head too much.” Ford rubbed his temples, sighing.

Wendy had to stifle a laugh. “Yeah, drinking is _very bad for you_ if you do it wrong. You can’t drink all of that hard stuff in a row and expect to have an enjoyable buzz.”

“...Oh, I suppose they lowered the drinking age since I was gone. Back in ‘82 you had to wait until you were twenty-one. And I wasn’t exactly looking for an enjoyable buzz… Even if I was, for me there’s no such thing.” Ford said, opening up a little more now.

“Well… not exactly. The legal drinking age hasn’t changed… But it’s not like I go out and get shi-... _drunk_ constantly. “Wendy slowly sat down next to Ford, careful to not make too much noise.

“You shouldn’t do that.” Ford paused. “And I shouldn’t have gotten drunk last night. I’m sorry, I know it upset you.”

“It isn’t me you should be apologizing to, dude. Stan is the one who had to tuck you into bed and, well, it looks like you’ve been hurling all night.” She eyed the wastebasket next to the bed

“I know. But before I go apologize to Stan, I have to check something.” Ford said, standing up, steadying himself on the bed frame. “Is anyone in the gift shop? I need to get to my lab.”

“What’s in your lab? I can just go get it for you, man.” Wendy said, noticing Ford’s shaky steps.

“Well… I’ll need a syringe and--”

“ _Dude._ I am _not_ helping you shoot up.” If Ford hadn’t been hungover, Wendy would probably have smacked him.

“What? Unless that’s the new term for checking blood alcohol content, I’m not going to... ‘shoot up’.” Ford said, shuffling towards the door.

“Be careful, dude, the light is gonna hit your eyes and you aren’t gonna like it!” Wendy said, putting herself between Ford and the door.

“It doesn’t matter.” Ford grumbled. “Step aside, please.”

Wendy crossed her arms and got out of Ford’s way, just waiting for him to start complaining about his hangover. “Have it your way.”

When the light hit Ford’s eyes, he couldn’t help but wince. He shuffled out into the hallway, silently pushing through whatever effects the hangover was having on him. Wendy had to admit, for his first hangover, Ford was doing pretty well at hiding it.

Wendy followed Ford around the house to make sure he didn’t knock into anything, and Ford didn’t object, not even when they reached the vending machine. Once they had disappeared down the elevator to the basement, Ford leaned against the wall, rubbing his temples, welcoming the dim lighting.

Wendy had never seen the basement before, but at this point, it took a lot more than a big empty room to impress her. “What did I tell you, huh? You’ve gotta take it easy. You should probably eat something.”

“I’ll eat something once I’m done, just help me find a timer so I can check this accurately.” Ford said, fumbling around in one of the drawers for a clean syringe and a small bottle filled with paper strips.

Wendy pulled her cellphone out of her pocket and opened up the timer. “I can time you.”

“Alright, now it’s important that you don’t start timing until I actually inject myself. And, also, you might not want to mess with those.” Ford said, noticing Wendy reaching for the strips. “I invented them as a prank for an old college ‘buddy’ of mine who was an alcoholic. They accurately measure your blood alcohol content but give you rashes if they come in contact with your skin.” Ford rolled up his sleeve, trying to find a vein in the dim light.

Wendy’s cellphone illuminated the small room, reflecting off the blast shield. “Hey, be careful!” She said. “Don’t just stab that needle in willy nilly!”

“I’ve survived a _lot_ worse injuries than a little _pinprick_ , Wendy.” Ford said as he finally found a vein. “Okay, start the timer… now.” Wendy winced a little as Ford drew his own blood, and used the strips as a litmus tester. Ford ran a few quick calculations in his head, grabbing Wendy’s phone at one point to double check how much time had passed, and eventually sat down on a small chair.

“In about five minutes, I’ll officially be sober.” He said. “Thank you for helping me with that. You can go back up if you wish. I’ll be up in a little while to talk to Stan.”

Wendy hopped up to sit on a workbench and swings her legs. “Nah, it’s pretty cool down here. I want to make sure you stop playing with needles.”

“I won’t be injecting myself or drawing blood anytime soon, Wendy.” Ford said, his head beginning to clear. “How long do these things usually last in humans? Two days? Three? It’s been awhile since I’ve done something like this.”

“You’ll be feeling it all day, but it should be gone tomorrow. You have to chill out, drink some water, eat something.”

“I don’t think I’ll be doing much of that today, I’m afraid. There’s too much I have to do first.” Ford said.

“Then get ready for the worst hangover of your _life._ You need to take care of yourself, man.”

“If the rest of today doesn’t get too much worse than this morning, then I think I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.” Stanford let out a heavy sigh. “You really are too young to be doing this. I appreciate the help, of course, but…”

“But nothing. Dude, it’s fine. You need hearty breakfast food, I’m telling you, it's a hangover miracle!” Wendy was very adamant, and she was not about to let Ford suffer all day.

“Wendy, if I can survive being stuck between dimensions for thirty years, I can handle one day of hangover. That medicine is already helping.” Ford said. “I think it’s been about five minutes, and if it hasn’t, it will be by the time I actually find Stan. I need to apologize.”

“Yeah you do.” Wendy muttered under her breath. She hopped down from her spot on the workbench and shoved her hands in her pockets. “Alright then, old man, let’s go back into the daylight. Don’t complain when you haven’t eaten anything and your headache gets worse.” She said, leading Ford back to the elevator. “Oh, and one more thing?” Wendy said, reaching into her back pocket.

“What?” Ford asked, leaning against the elevator wall. Wendy handed Ford a pair of sunglasses, with pink frames that were large enough to fit over his own glasses.

“So you don’t fucking blind yourself again. You’ll be thanking me later.” She said as Ford slipped on the sunglasses as the elevator came to a halt.

“Thank you, Wendy.” Ford said quietly, leaving for the gift shop to search for Stan.

Eventually, Ford found him sitting on the old couch on the back porch, sipping a Pitt Cola. Dipper and Mabel were running around the yard with a shovel and too many glass bottles, digging holes, Dipper pausing every few minutes to rub at his cast. Wendy had disappeared, likely to return to her own friends.

“...Good morning, Stan.” Ford said, sighing. “...What are the kids doing?”

“They say they’re trying to contact someone named Blendin from ‘the year twenty sñeventy-twelve.’ They think he might go back and change the past.” Stan’s voice was low, trying to hide his hopelessness from the kids. “Who knows, maybe he will. Or maybe this Blendin guy is a huge pri-- _jerk_ and needs to step off the kids. I don’t know. But it gives ‘em something to focus on. They’ve got a little bit of hope left in ‘em, and I don’t want to squash that.” Stan sighed. After how drunk Ford had been last night, Stan was sure that Ford didn’t remember a thing, so he was surprised when his brother took a seat next to him on the couch.

“Stan? I’m… I’m sorry.”

Stan could have had a heart attack right then and there. He didn’t think his brother would actually say it while sober, it was a little too good to be true. “Sorry...for what?”

“I’m sorry for getting drunk last night, and more importantly, for not listening to you when I had the chance all those years ago. Last night’s a bit of a blur, but I _do_ remember you saying that what happened was an accident, and I believe you about that. I never even _considered_ …” Ford took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice down so the kids wouldn’t hear and get upset. “It was so long ago, and honestly it doesn’t really matter now, but I _do_ remember what happened. Or at least, what I thought happened. I’d thought you’d destroyed my project to try to manipulate me into staying in New Jersey. I was so hurt, I didn’t even think to _ask_ … And that set the tone for everything _else_ that happened. With the portal. And _that_ set the tone for when I came back. I was so upset that you hadn’t listened to me, hadn’t even said sorry, that I ignored the big picture. Stan, you _saved me._ ” A tear slid down Ford’s face. “The other side of that portal was _awful_ , and what I’d done to you was _awful_ , you were homeless for _years_ because of me… and you _still_ spent thirty years trying to get me back _home_. For a long time, I thought you were a reckless, dangerous, criminal for risking so much just for me. But losing Sherman and Alexandria made me realize… that I’d risk it all for you, too. For any of them, really. And I’m so, so sorry that I ever made you feel like--” Ford almost said ‘ _like I do now_ ’ but caught himself. This was about apologizing to Stan, not garnering his own self-pity. “Like garbage. Like the dumb twin. Because you’re _not_ , Stan. And despite everything, despite how irrationally and unreasonably angry I was, I never thought you were.”

Stan listened to Ford’s whole speech, gripping the couch arm in an attempt not to cry. He’d been waiting for this for what seemed like his whole life, to be redeemed in Ford’s eyes, but he didn’t feel right saying something like ‘I told you so’. So he did the only thing that felt genuine. Stan wrapped his big arms around Ford and hugged him, holding Ford in a vice-like grip. Ford’s own arms found their way around Stan’s torso, rubbing small circles into his back.

“I’m so sorry, Stan…” Ford whispered, trying and failing not to let tears fall down his face. “I love you, I’m so sorry.”

“I love you too, Ford. It’s okay.” Stan almost shook, and hid his face in his brother’s shoulder.

From across the yard, Mabel dropped her shovel and shook Dipper, who was digging next to her. “Oh. My. Gosh. _They’re HUGGING IT OUT!”_ Mabel almost shrieked with excitement and then kicked the ground. “I should have brought my camera outside, I knew it!”

Dipper laughed a little as he was rattled by Mabel, and leaned against his shovel to watch the loving reunion, happy that _something_ good was finally happening. “It's about time.” He looked down at the hole he’d been digging. “...Maybe time will be on our side soon, too.”

Inside, Fiddleford was sitting on the living room floor, tinkering with the TV remote with Waddles in his lap. He had taken the thing apart, and it appeared as if he was rewiring the whole thing. He jumped a little when the Pines came back inside and tried to hide his handiwork. Stan had already gotten onto him for trying to ‘fix’ the oven by allowing it to heat up to thousands of degrees in order to flash cook food a few weeks ago. It didn’t really turn out the way Fiddleford had planned.

“Good morning, Fidds.” Ford said without thinking. Talking it out and starting to repair his relationship with Stan had put him in a good mood, despite the hangover.

Fiddleford dropped his screwdriver and smiled up at Ford, blushing behind his beard. “Hello, Stanford! Uh, good mornin’ to ya too! Those are some fancy shades you’ve got on!”

“Don’t… Don’t ask.” Ford said, scratching the back of his head. “Have you… have _either_ of you, eaten breakfast yet?” Ford asked, scratching the back of his head. “I’m a little peckish, and I would prefer to eat with some company.”

“No! I haven’t had nothin to eat yet!” Fiddleford hopped up, causing Waddles to leave his comfy spot, and the remote experiment to drop to the floor.

“Oh, are you working on something? Don’t let me get in your way.” Ford said, eyeing the remote. Fiddleford working on new projects, ones that weren’t voice altering tonics or animatronic lake monsters, was _progress_ , it meant he’d remembered where exactly his interests lay. He hadn’t lost his engineering skills to the memory gun, but he had lost an outlet for them, and seeing Fiddleford get that back was a huge relief for Ford.

“Not really, I couldn’t find the other clickers, so I’m makin’ this one to work for all the devices Stanley’s got goin’ in here. I am mighty hungry, I can wait to finish.” Fiddleford said, tugging nervously at his beard.

“Wait, you can do that?” Ford asked, intrigued. The prospect of breakfast forgotten, he sat down on the floor next to the remote. “The last time I was in this dimension, everyone still had to use buttons, and now you’re on the verge of just… having a remote to do everything?”

Stan rolled his eyes, smirking at the conversation. “I don’t know how you manage to be so nerdy and so behind the times, Ford, but you do.”

“You’re behind the times, too, Stanley.” Ford had the remote in his hands, examining it, being careful to not loosen any wires.

“I get to be behind the times, because _I_ don’t have a PhD.” Stan said.

Fiddleford sat and watched Ford admire his work, hoping Stanford didn't think that this invention was crazy, like most people would. He kept quiet as Ford looked the wiring over, not wanting to say something to scare Ford off.

Mable and Dipper stopped behind Stan once they came inside, and pushed him into the kitchen. "Come on, Grunkle Stan, second breakfast!" Mabel cheered. She was happy that her two uncles had made amends, but she was going to let Fiddleford and Stanford reconnect if it was the last thing she did.

“Wait, kids, I--” Stan’s voice trailed off as Mabel pulled him along into the kitchen. Ford slowly stood up, a little torn between going into the kitchen to spend time with Stan, and staying in the living room with Fiddleford.

Fiddleford cleared his throat and gently took the remote back from Stanford. “I’m fine stayin’ in here to work on it, if you wanna spend time with yer family.”

“No, Fiddleford, please. Join us. You don’t have to stay cooped up in here all day.” Ford said.

“Stanford, I reckon stayin’ cooped up’s been more yer way of doin’ things as of late. I thought you liked bein by yer lonesome."

“...It’s less of a personal preference and more of acknowledging that it’s better if other people don’t get involved on the dark, weird road I travel.” Ford said, looking away. When Stan had told him to stay away from the kids, though the rule was eventually lifted, what had happened to _Fiddleford_ was the reason Ford hadn’t objected. “If something happened to you a-- I’d never forgive myself…”

"Stanford, I'm not scared 'a you. Yer helpin' me get my memories back, yesterday was the most I've ever remembered things all in one go. I know there was some kinda horrific lab accident thirty odd years ago, but whatever it was, we’re both older n’wiser now. I won’t get hurt again.” Fiddleford spoke with a very clear head, unlike his usual hillbilly demeanor. He looked Ford straight in the eyes to convey his sincerity.

“Fiddleford, if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer if the study was as far into the basement as we went. If it makes you feel better, though, I’ll come back upstairs to go to sleep…” Ford said, unable to completely ignore Fiddleford’s concerns.

Fiddleford couldn’t help but smile. "We could be roommates like we used'ta be. You don’ hafta sleep on the couch again, if you don’ wanna."

There was a crash from the kitchen, followed by one of Stan’s fake curse words. “...Maybe we should get to the kitchen. We can sort out the rest later.” Ford said, standing up and offering his hand to help Fiddleford stand.

Fiddleford slowly reached up to take Ford's hand and his heart almost kept out of his chest when their fingers laced together. Ford pulled Fiddleford up with ease, the man still barely weighed anything, and tried to pull his own hand away. It was still too soon, and Ford needed more time to process everything, to get his bearings again.

Fiddleford's grip was fairly loose, afraid that Ford was going to shut him out again at any moment. When he felt Ford pulling, Fiddleford's arm snapped back to his side, and he scuttled to the kitchen faster.

“ _I’m sorry_.” Ford whispered, seeing his friend so afraid of him.

The kitchen was covered in pancake batter and flour. Stan had apparently dropped a pan, though thankfully no fire was involved this time around, and was trying to mop up the mess.

“You alright in here?” Ford asked, thankful for the sunglasses he wore against the bright light of the kitchen.

"Grunkle Stan tried flipping the pancakes but he forgot that you're not supposed to throw the whole pan." Dipper stifled a laugh, kind of entertained with his Grunkle's misfortune.

“I see.” Ford gave a small smile and took a seat next to Mabel and Dipper. “How did… How did writing to this Blendin fellow go?”

"Well, we wrote lots and lots of letters. Wendy took some to hide in town for us, and we put a bunch in the front yard and near the forest. Hopefully Blendin finds one and he can go back in time and fix what happened... He's a nice guy, I think he'll help us." Mabel fed Waddles some pancake scraps as she explained her time capsule plan to Ford.

“He’d better be.” Stanley mumbled. “I don’t know if I like the idea of you two meddling with space and time with a guy I’ve never met, but if it’ll get your parents back… Look, all I’m saying is… If this Blendin guy gives you any trouble, call me and Ford. We’ll come help.”

"We kicked his butt in Globnar, he's not exactly the strongest or the smartest guy. We can take him, Grunkle Stan." Dipper shrugged.

“Wait, you’ve been summoned to _Globnar_ before? And _lived_?" Ford was shocked, Globnar was a life or death battle royale. “Wait, what on earth was this Blendin guy doing summoning two _kids_ to Globnar?!”

"We played with his time machine and he got arrested by the time cops, he wanted revenge. Globnar wasn’t _that_ scary, Grunkle Ford. We played _laser tag_." Mabel smiled, reliving her summer adventures was putting her in a better mood.

“ _Laser tag_? You’re thirteen, too young to be given laser weapons! Even _I’ve_ never gone near a laser tag battle! If and when this Blendin guy shows up I’m going to _break every part of his face_!” Ford stood up, pacing around the kitchen. He was absolutely livid.

“Ford. Laser tag is a _game._ For _children_. It does _not_ involve actual laser weapons. It's about as harmful as a bright flashlight, keep your shorts on." Stan rolled his eyes and got back to actually making pancakes again.

“...Wait. What? Are you seriously telling me that one of the most notorious and deadly battle royales in the _multiverse_ …? And they… Laser tag is just… I think I’m going to sit down and rethink everything.”

Roughly sñeventy hundred years in the future, Blendin Blandin was having another boring time day in the time office, reading time news bulletin after time news bulletin. _High fiving pioneer woman arrested… Cowboy versions of plucky teenager and rude criminal grandfather murdered by rogue time policeman… Upcoming coronation on timeline 928-B postponed… Globnar Victors from 21st century attempt to contact Time Anomaly Removal Crew Member, sweater attached… Sea Pig uprising erased from history…_ Wait what? Globnar victors? Blendin pressed a button on his watch, calling Halorox from Time Cubicle 427.

“What is it, Blandin?” Halorox sounded bored, and with his job, no one could really blame him. “I’ve got a long day of pushing time buttons and sorting time packages to get to.”

“Has anything come in for me? From say… the twenty-first century?” Blendin squawked in his vaguely annoying voice.

“Oh, yeah. You got a couple of packages. I’ll beam them over to you here in just a second.” Halorox said, clicking away at his time computer. “Anything else you want? Or are you gonna get off my time back now?”

Blendin paused, as a few glass bottles and a sweater stuffed in a Ziploc gallon bag materialized next to him in a flash of blue light. “No thank you. Gotta get back to time business!”

Blendin adjusted his goggles, opening the Ziploc bag first. The sweater inside was bright green, half a size too small, and said “I invoked Globnar and all I got was this SICK HAIRDO.” There was a note attached, explaining that Mabel had forgotten what size Blendin was, and that if he didn’t like it to just send it back. The letter was dated summer of 2012.

“Well, that’s sweet, but why all the bottles?” Blendin wondered aloud, reaching over to grab one. He unscrewed the lid, and had to use a time screwdriver to get the letter out of the bottle. The handwriting was small and a little sloppy, but legible at least.

_Dear Blendin Blandin,_

_About two weeks ago our parents died in a car crash. Our Great Uncle Ford tried to save them but we lost them anyways. We know you’re probably busy and might not want to help, but could you please use your time belt to help us save them? We need you. Please come to Gravity Falls again._

_Love,_

_Dipper and Mabel Pines, September 2012_

Oh dear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading! If you like it be sure to let us know and you can comment below if you have any questions about the fic! The next chapters are coming soon and they'll be a lot longer!  
> (lord-of-vaginas-and-time.tumblr.com and greenllamajeans.tumblr.com)


	9. Extreme Makeover: Geezer Edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 23-8-1-20 1-18-5 25-15-21 23-5-1-18-9-14-7?  
> 2-15-24-9-14-7 7-12-15-22-5-19 4-15 14-15-20 3-1-12-12 1-7-1-9-14  
> 1-12-19-15 9 1-2-21-19-5 13-25 3-8-9-12-4-18-5-14

Two weeks had passed since Dipper and Mabel came to Gravity Falls to live with their Grunkles. It worried Stan to see his nephew and niece still depressed, still grieving the loss of their parents, but eventually he started to worry about their schooling; even with Ford giving the kids brief little lessons, they couldn't afford truancy charges. And though Ford had been getting better, he still wasn’t in much condition to teach them. So Stan did research on the local middle school, spoke with teachers and principals, trying to ensure his kids' comfort in a new environment. He sure as hell wasn't going to tolerate the kids getting bullied, and made that very clear to the school staff.

The third week, he got all of their papers in order, checked the school bus route, and packed lunches for the twins. He knew how important an education really was, and wasn't going to let Dipper and Mabel be held back because of this.

“Are you sure about this, Stan? Being in a new place is stressful enough, adding school to the mix, especially when they might not be _ready_ …” Ford said, pacing near the stairwell, waiting for the kids to come downstairs.

"Ford. Calm down, you're more nervous than the kids are. Mabel is excited to go, her weird little friends will be there. Dipper is a little unsure, but he's a tough kid, and a smart one, he needs to go to school. And he’s got Mabel and her friends, too.”

“I can teach them just _fine_ until they’re ready, and Candy and Grenda can come visit anytime they want.” Ford was wringing his hands. “They’ll need to go eventually, I know, but I don’t want to push them.”

"The law is a lot stricter about kids missing out on school nowadays, if we hold them back, we could go to court, or the kids could go to juvie. Normally I'm fine with going against the law, but not if it’s gonna hurt the kids.” Stan’s voice was stern, he wasn’t backing down on this.

“Homeschooling still _counts_ as an education, though, right? They technically haven’t missed a beat.”

"Ford, trust me on this. They _need_ to go." Stan said, putting an arm on Ford’s shoulder.

Mabel came down the stairs in a cute pink sweater she made with a little pencil on the front, a coordinating skirt, and her light up sneakers. She put a lot of thought into her outfit, she even made earrings out of pushpins and paperclips and tiny food shaped erasers. Her backpack was brand new, a gift from Stan, and her books and supplies were all packed. Dipper didn't look as thrilled. His hat was tucked tightly on his head, he wore the same old t shirt and vest he always did, but swapped his shorts for cargo pants. He was clutching the journal he got from Ford for dear life, and he tried not to make as much of a scene as his sister.

"Grunkle Ford, get a picture of us!" Mable handed her Polaroid camera to Ford and threw an arm around Dipper to pose. "C'mon, Dipper, we got all the same classes, what could go wrong? Smile!"

Ford snapped a picture once Dipper got in the frame. It turned out to be a nice enough photo of the two of them, but Dipper was clearly still anxious.

“Dipper?” Ford said, kneeling down to his level. “You’re going to do _great_. And if you need me, you can always, _always_ call me.”

Dipper looked away and nodded, still holding his journal to his chest. "Thanks Great Uncle Ford." Dipper didn't make friends easily, and in addition to missing his parents, he missed his old friends too.

“I’ll walk you two to the bus stop.” Ford said, putting a hand on each of the kids' shoulders.

“I’ll go with you.” Stan said, giving Ford a pat on the back. "I can hand out some Mystery Shack flyers on the way."

Dipper looked _mortified._ "That's not such a good idea, Grunkle Stan. Maybe don't try to scam my peers?"

“I’m with Dipper. Remember the time mom gave out the phone number for her psychic hotline at the PTA bake sale?” Ford gave Stan a crooked smile.

Stan shuddered. So many calls for the _wrong_ kind of hotline. The one redeeming thing Filbrick had done in his life was go after any of the sickos who tried to harass their mother. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I'll just tape a bunch of 'em to Soos' truck again and make him run some errands for me."

Mabel reached to tap Stan on the shoulder and whispered "Don't worry, I'll tell my friends about the Mystery Shack." She pointer her finger in the air and exclaimed "Let's get breakfast going, drink some Mabel Juice, and go socialize-- I mean _learn_!" She marched into the kitchen and the sound of the blender filled the air. Dipper reluctantly followed her, planning on eating a slice of toast and little else.

“...I hope you’re right about this, Stan.” Ford said softly, sitting at the foot of the stairwell. “Being stuck in a new place is bad enough, being stuck in a _crowded_ new place…”

"He's been to public school before, Ford. He's used to the environment, it’s just new people. If anything goes wrong, the school knows to call me immediately." Stanley pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s just middle school. It’s not some other dimension.”

Mabel destroyed two bowls of Sugary Marshmallow Crunch Xtreme and a good glass full of Mabel juice. The kid’s sack lunches were sitting on the table, each with a name on it in full caps. Mabel reached for some stickers in her backpack and decorated hers and Dipper's lunch. The prospect of school, new friends, it gave Mabel a healthy distraction from her grief, she felt most comfortable when surrounded by people. It gave her something to focus on.

Dipper nibbled at his toast, too worked up to eat much. He liked school well enough, he liked learning, but it was the other students that bothered him. Talking to people, saying the right thing, trying to fit in just came harder to him than it did to Mabel. He didn’t understand what it was about him that made everyone seem to keep their distance, and that’s what made him nervous.

Mabel glanced over at her brother and nudged him with her elbow. "Dip, will you be my bus buddy? I don't think I'm gonna know anybody on there. We can sit at the front just how you like." Mabel knew it was important to include her brother when it came to school, but she never talked down to him about it.

Dipper looked up from his toast, giving Mabel a tiny smile. “Thanks, Mabel.”

After breakfast, Stan and Ford escorted Dipper and Mabel to their bus stop. There were a couple of kids there, ones that could be recognized from stopping by the Mystery Shack with their parents, or from Pioneer Day. They were pretty friendly, and greeted Dipper and Mabel with simple hellos. Stan and Ford stood back and watched the kids until the bus arrived and the kids disappeared into the foggy September street. Stanford tried not to look too worried, for Dipper and Mabel’s sake.

“They’ll be fine, Ford.” Stan said, an arm around his brother’s shoulder.

“I hope so.” Ford sighed, and they began their walk back to the Mystery Shack. “Sorry I projected my own baggage onto the kids.”

"I get it Ford, you want the best for them, just like I do. I know they can do it, they're good kids. If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't have sent them to school. So don't be sorry." Stan said, reaching into his pocket for his keys. Something caught Ford’s eye in the distance.

McGucket was on the front porch in his sweater and overalls, pacing back and forth, muttering to himself. "They were here last night, I _remember._ I _know_ they were here! _"_

“Fiddleford? Are you alright?” Ford asked, running ahead of Stanley.

"Stanford! Stanford, I… I woke up and everyone was _gone_...” Fiddleford looked close to crazy, he'd been up since the Pines left, and he wasn't used to an empty house. Junkyard? Yes. House? No. "Where is everyone? Did… Did they...?"

“No, everyone’s _fine_ , Dipper and Mabel had to go to school, I’m so _sorry_ Fiddleford. I didn’t want to wake you up so I…” Ford put his hands on Fiddleford’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t _thinking_ … I should’ve...” Ford was at a loss for words. If _he_ had woken up to a suddenly empty house? He’d be in a worse state than Fiddleford was in now.

"No... _I'm_ sorry. I overreacted. I should'a guessed that the kids had to go to school. I'm okay... And yer okay, right?" Fiddleford searched Ford's face for any sign of distress.

Stan caught up with Stanford and panted. "What's the big idea, Ford, you trying to race me...? Am I interrupting something?" Stanley saw the two geezers on the porch staring in each other's eyes and waggled his eyebrows.

“No you most certainly are _not_ , Stanley.” Ford said, a little too quickly, his face red, remembering the way Stan had laughed when Soos suggested he and Fiddleford were involved.

Fiddleford blushed as well and pulled his hands inside of his sweater sleeves. "I just thought y'all went missin, but I just slept in late it seems. Carry on, fellers." McGucket headed for the door and realized he accidentally locked himself out. “Er… you two wouldn’t happen to have yer keys on ya, w-would ya?”

“Right here, Fiddlenerd.” Stan said, jingling his keys, and tossing them to Fiddleford. Fiddleford grabbed for the keys and took a few tries to get the door unlocked. Stan paused, glancing between Ford’s threadbare sweater, frayed slacks, and worn out boots, and Fiddleford’s disgustingly ratty overalls that his sweater only half disguised. “Well… Since the kids are gone until four… You two knuckleheads wanna go out and get you some new clothes? You both look like you escaped from the world's worst nursing home."

“Aw, you don’ halfta worry about me none.” Fiddleford said.

“Absolutely not, thank you for offering. I’m fine the way I am.” Ford said, clutching his coat.

"You don't have to throw that thing away, but getting some new shirts and pants for the _both_ of you is a good idea. And you both could use a visit to the barber too. When's the last time you did somethin' nice for yourselves?"

“I’ll have you know that I let myself sleep in for an extra thirty minutes last week. You don’t have to worry about me.” Ford paused. “And if you think I’m letting _anyone_ near my _neck_ with sharp instruments of _any kind_ , you’ve got another thing coming.”

Stanley rubbed his temples and groaned. "I'm gonna be honest, you both look gross. A new change of clothes and haircut aren't so bad. I'll pick everything out myself if I have to. I won't even make you get rid of your sideburns, Ford.

“It’s not the stupid _sideburns_ , Stanley, it’s the potential for _murder_. Jesus, is Sweeney Todd no longer a cultural staple in this dimension?”

Fiddleford looked down at his shabby beard, his overalls were practically rotting off of his frail body. He felt pretty self-conscious about his appearance, and now that he was regaining memories, he was starting to become ashamed of himself again. "I wouldn't mind gettin' cleaned up..." Fiddleford admitted. Ford paused for a moment, staring at his friend.

“...I guess it wouldn’t hurt to buy some new boots. But no new _pants_ , no new _shirts_ , and _definitely_ no new _haircuts_ for me.” Ford said, crossing his arms.

Stan crossed his arms and thought of ways to get around his brother's conditions. "Alright then, it's a deal, I'm taking you nerds shopping."

Fiddleford grabbed his floppy hat and put it on excitedly, he hasn't gotten the chance to present himself the way he felt comfortable in a while. He'd been bathing every day since he came to live with the Pines, but clothes would make a huge difference.

After Stanford and Fiddleford somewhat cleaned themselves up, Stanley loaded them in the Stanley Mobile and drove off towards the Gravity Falls Shopping Center.

“Just you two wait, you’re gonna love this place. It’s got everything! Beeply Boops, Overalls Are Cool Now, Edgy on Purpose, Build a Beaver, Jam Zone, Hoo Haa’s, I’m pretty sure there’s a store called Pants... It’s a real money maker!”

Ford didn't understand 80% of the words that came out of Stan's mouth. “What… do most of these establishments sell? Exactly?”

“Well, Soos bought a living video game at Beeply Boops, and my/your ex-husband Old Goldie murdered an animatronic badger outside the Hoo Haa’s, and I’m pretty sure Edgy on Purpose sells clones of that Robbie kid.”

Ford was vaguely concerned, but Fiddleford was intrigued, and his face lit up when they pulled into the parking lot. He rarely made it to this side of the town, since most of his travelling was done on foot, and he had never witnessed the Mall firsthand. "It’s huge! How many stores did ya say are in there?"

“I dunno, maybe thirty?” Stan shrugged, and floored the gas pedal, beating out some trophy wife in a station wagon to a good parking space. "Take that, you floozy! Not all of us can marry rich!"

“Stan, don’t you think that’s a little demeaning?” Ford huffed. “You already made her circle half the lot, you don’t have to insult her life choices.”

Stan rolled his eyes and stepped out of the car. "Alright, let's get going. I'm buying you a couple of outfits each, a haircut for you, Fiddlenerd, and we can eat at the food court. Stay together, I don't want either of you getting lost."

“We’re not _children_ , Stanley. We can find our way around a shopping mall.” Ford said, arms folded over his chest, hunching in on himself.

"You'd be surprised, Ford." Stan led them to the main entrance and the doors opened automatically. Fiddleford held onto the edge of Ford's trench coat and looked around rapidly, trying to take it all in at once.

The mall was absolutely huge, easily one of the largest buildings in Gravity Falls. “Gentlemen, welcome to the exact kind of soul sucking, cash grabbing cesspool I hope to run one day!”

Fiddleford gravitated towards a computer store, showing off fancy new monitors in the window. Stan had to yank him back by his sweater. "We can look at the toys after we're done, Fiddlenerd."

Stan led them past a decent crowd of people. It was a weekday afternoon, but there was still a little traffic. They stopped in an outlet store first, Clothes for the Elderly, a place that carried the unwanted stock of department stores for cheap, and that was right up Stan's alley.

The racks in Clothes for the Elderly were filled with clothes that were fairly out of fashion, but they were nice and generously marked down. Stan led his two companions over to the men's section, and admired a terrible silk shirt that the 1970s threw up onto a mannequin. "This. This is fashion."

Fiddleford reluctantly touched the clothes on the racks and looked through the nice button up shirts hanging in a circle. The fabric felt almost luxurious, Fiddleford hadn't worn anything like it in years.

“Are you sure ‘bout this, Stanley?” Fiddleford asked, twirling his beard around his fingers. “I don’ have anythin to pay you back with.”

"You're always cleaning up the house and helping Ford with his science stuff. Consider it a gift, no, a _paycheck_ , alright? Pick out whatever you want.” Stanley said, grabbing a few shirts off the rack and checking the tags.

Fiddleford grabbed one of the hangers and held it up to his body. The shirt fell down past his waist, it was much too big, but he smiled at the look of it. "Somethin' like this?"

“Yeah! Now we just gotta find you the right size.” Stan said, looking up from the shirts in his hand.

Ford stood off to the side, arms folded, careful not to touch any of the fabric. Fiddleford turned to him, showing off a shirt with a god awful camouflage pattern and grinned. "What do you think, Stanford?”

“...I think you should try it on, Fiddleford.” Ford said with a light smile. He wasn’t aware of any passing or failed fashion trends: he genuinely thought Fiddleford would look good in the shirt.

Stanley grabbed it with a pile of other shirts and draped them over one of his arms. "How about we find you some pants too? Ford, do you see somethin' you like?"

Ford resisted the urge to say ‘the exit’ and cleared his throat. “Er, no, I’m fine, thank you.”

Stanley sighed and dragged Fiddleford over to a rack of pants. He grabbed the smallest sizes and held them up to Fiddleford, trying to tell which size he should be. "Alright… just… you'll have to try these on too." Stan said, handing a few pairs of pants to Fiddleford.

“Well, hornswaggle my goat’s tees, let’s go find a fittin’ room.” Fiddleford said with a chortle. Thank God it was an establishment where you didn't have to rely on an employee to let you in and out of the changing rooms. Otherwise, Ford would have been halfway to the Mystery Shack before Stan could blink. Once Fiddleford had gone into a fitting room, Stan turned to Ford, and held out a few shirts from one of the racks.

“Listen, I know you don’t think you need any, but you can’t keep wearin’ that sweater all the time, so I grabbed these off the rack. I already checked, none of them are nylon, I know you’re funny about that.” Stan’s voice was low, so any passersby couldn’t hear. “Please, at least try ‘em on?”

Ford stared at the shirts Stan was offering. They were button up shirts in solid colors, light blues and mustard yellows. They looked like things he would’ve worn thirty years ago, before he fell into the portal. Gingerly, he reached out to take them. “I… appreciate it, about the nylon, Stan. I’ll… go try these on. Sorry for being a bother earlier.” Ford said, before disappearing into one of the fitting rooms.

Stan stared for a moment. Something wasn’t right about this. A few weeks ago, Stan would have given anything to hear Ford apologize, but now he was beginning to sound like a broken record. He didn’t have time to dwell on it, though, when Fiddleford burst out of the fitting room, looking like a loon in a camouflage shirt and pink plaid golf pants, but he hadn't looked happier in years.

“You look… _better_ than you did earlier, that’s for sure.” Stan said, smirking. "Go try a different outfit out, we're getting that one."

“Really? Y’sure?” Fiddleford asked.

“Yeah, and go grab you some shoes, too.” Stanley said with a wave of his hand.

Fiddleford skedaddled back to the dressing room to try on a different set, going for acid washed dad jeans and a shirt with a built in sweater vest.

“...Is he gone?” Stan heard Ford whisper from behind the fitting room.

“Yeah, poindexter, he’s gone. Mind tellin’ me why you’re so shy around the guy running around in a camo shirt and pink golf pants?” Stan said.

“No, it’s not that I’m _shy_ I just don’t…” Ford sighed, opening the door to the changing room. He’d picked out the blue shirt, and it fit him well. His trench coat hung loosely over his shoulders, not clutched tightly around himself as it had been earlier. “I just… feel like I’m walking on _eggshells_ around him. Anything I say or do could jog his memory of _anything_ , and at least one of those memories is the one that made him found a mind-erasing cult in the first place.” Ford paused, looking down at himself. “...So you got me in this thing. How do I look?”

 When Fiddleford came out to show off his second outfit, he caught a glimpse of Ford in a brand new blue button up, and covered his mouth. It was like an instantaneous glimpse to the past, There was, Stanford Pines, PhD. Handsome and somewhat-humble (at least he seemed that way to Fiddleford) and intelligent. _Oh no, he's hot._ Fiddleford tried sneaking back into his fitting room but walked backwards into the wall with a loud _thump! "_ DAGNABBIT _"_

“Sorry.” Ford said before ducking back into the fitting room, suddenly itching to take off the shirt.

Stanley stood outside, dumbfounded. _Well, looks like Mabel was onto something after all._

Fiddleford hurried and changed back into his overalls and sweater. He brought back the clothes that fit, his face still red. "Thank you, Stanley, I think I'm gonna look mighty nice, all thanks to you."

“Oh, we’re not quite done yet.” Stan said, mischief gleaming in his eyes. He leaned down and whispered to Fiddleford. “Alright, you see those suits over there? I want you to go pick out one for yourself and try it on.” He slipped two hundred dollars into Fiddleford’s pocket, with a wink. “Poindexter and I are gonna go look for shoes or whatever. Just grab the suit that fits and buy it, we’ll meet at the food court.” This was shaping to be the best day Stan had had in a while.

Fiddleford didn't know what to say, and especially didn't know how argue with Stanley 'smooth talking' Pines. He simply nodded and hobbled over to the display of suits. His eyes were drawn to a forest green suit, complete with a turtleneck sweater and green and brown plaid slacks. The price tag said the suit was one hundred and seventy-five dollars, on clearance. He grabbed the suit and hoped it would fit him when he tried him on.

“Hey, poindexter? Fiddleford said he was gonna go find some more shirts or whatever, and that he’d meet us at the food court. Wanna go pick out some boots or something?” Stanley said, giving the fitting room door a light knock.

“Alright, what’s going on?” Ford said, poking his head out the fitting room door. “ _You_ were the one who wanted us to stick together.”

“Hey, don’t look at me! He suggested it! And since you were the one who said you two could handle it, and _you_ were the one who said you felt like walkin’ on eggshells around Fiddleford, I thought, hey, why not?” Stan said, throwing his arms up. “If you’re worried, we can go find him. He’s just on the other side of the store.”

“No… no it’s fine. Let’s just go find some boots.” Ford said, pulling his trench coat tighter around him and grabbing the three button up shirts Stan had picked out.

“There we go!” Stan said, clapping his brother on the back, leading him to the shoe department, and far, far, away from the suits.

Fiddleford tried the suit on in his fitting room, and it fit like a glove, like it was tailored to fit only him. He was so mesmerized, he didn't notice Stan and Ford had already left.  Maybe if he got a different hat… and once he got his beard trimmed… Yes, he’d look dashing. There was something familiar about the color, something that reminded him of home, something that made him stand up a little straighter. Slowly, he lifted his beard, trying to get a good feel for what he’d look like when he got it cut. Fiddleford smiled, feeling better about his appearance than he had in a very long time, and slowly changed out of the suit. Yes, this would be the suit he would purchase.

Stan brought a couple of different pairs of boots to Ford to try on, probably too many pairs now that he thought about it. He needed to keep Ford distracted, so Fiddleford could find the perfect suit. A man's favorite suit was hard to find, and it would definitely take some time. "Here, you're still the same shoe size as me, right?”

“I’m not sure, I haven’t exactly been measuring your foot size Stanley.” Ford snipped.

"Yeesh! What's got your panties in a twist?" Stan said, setting the shoes down next to a bench.

“Sorry! Sorry, I’m… I’m just stressed, I didn’t mean to snap.” Ford said, wringing his hands.

"I can tell, poindexter, what’s the problem?" Stan sat on the bench next to Ford.

“The… crowd. It’s just the crowd, Stan. Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.” Ford glanced around the store, trying to come up with another lie.

"Stanford the store is empty. You don't have to bullshit me. Tell me what's up." Stan put a hand on Ford’s shoulder.

“You wouldn’t understand, I’m sorry, please just drop it.”

Stan went quiet and stared down at the pile of boots in front of them. "I can try to understand, Ford. Who could understand you better than your twin?”

“No, I can’t, you don’t need to deal with this too, alright? Let’s just… let’s just try on the shoes, I’m sorry I snapped.”

"Don't worry about it, you didn't exactly hurt my feelings." Stan picked up a boot he’d grabbed jokingly, a white one with a pretty high heel. "This one’s my favorite. You could probably stab a guy with this thing!" He said, smirking, trying to get a rise out of Ford. His face fell when he noticed Ford wasn’t smiling. "...Not your style?"

“Not really, no… Sorry…”

“Ford, you sound like a broken record. What’s going on with you?” Stan paused, turning the boot in his hands. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“...If I was wrong about you… then who else was I wrong about, Stanley? I’d thought you’d done something manipulative and awful and that wasn’t even the full story. What if… What if everyone _else_ is like that too and I’m just an asshole who can’t figure out when someone cares about me?”

"Woah, hold on there. You are not an ass. Sometimes you're a little stupid, and sometimes you’re a little mean, but we all are. You've been hurt, by things who sound like _real_ assholes. And you didn't deserve any of that.” Stan said, briefly recalling some of what Ford had said the night before he apologized, the night he’d gotten drunk in the kitchen.

“Stan, I made a deal with a _demon_. That demon wants to try to end the world and everyone in it. Sounds pretty jerkish to me. Look, you don’t have to deal with this, let’s just… let’s just forget about it...” Ford sighed. “I don’t know.”

"Yeah, a demon who lied to you. Isn’t that kinda their thing? You didn’t know what you were getting into, you didn't set out to hurt anyone. You did something stupid, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out you got treated in ways you don’t deserve. Ways _nobody_ deserves. And I _do_ understand what you’re going through. That feeling that the people who hurt you might actually be right? That you’re the awful one instead? That’s normal, that’s a part of what makes shit like that so bad. So you were probably wrong about one person, who cares? Hell, if I’d known forty years ago that you thought I was being an abusive, manipulative prick I’d have called sooner, and I’d _definitely_ would have understood your reaction a little better.” Stan paused, scratching his chin. “And you know what always helped me out? Thinking of it like: ‘would dad do x thing?’ Because dad was a prick. I couldn’t always see it when he was a prick to me, but he was definitely a prick to you, so I’d just use him to compare _other_ assholes to. If they matched? I’d throw ‘em out.” Stan set the heeled boot down and took a breath, hoping he would get through to Ford.

Ford sat for a moment, the wheels in his head turning a mile a minute, before looking up in realization. The next thing Stanley knew, Ford had wrapped him in a bear hug.

“...I don’t think dad would have spent thirty years getting me out of another dimension.” He said softly. "So… Thank you.”

"You're welcome." Stan squeezed Ford tight and gave him a loving pat. "Heh, you know, if you owed him enough money he might, but he would have given up before I did." Stan chuckled, attempting to make a joke.

“Heh, that, and I don’t think he’d even bother trying to decode the blueprints.” Ford said, though Stanley couldn’t entirely tell if he was chuckling or sobbing.

"Let's get some new shoes on your feet, huh? I still think you should go with the knife heel.” Stan said, picking the boot back up and making a stabbing motion.

“God, I missed you, Stan.”

"I missed you too Ford." _You don't even know_. “All of this sentiment is makin' me hungry. Pick some boots out and I'll treat you to the finest two dollar corn dogs money can buy."

“They still make corn dogs?” Ford’s smile was wide. He hadn’t felt this at peace in a long time.

"Of course, the apocalypse hasn't hit yet!"

“Oh, lord, to think I almost destroyed corn dogs with my vaguely demonic quest for science! I’ll add it to the list of my sins.” Ford said, chuckling. “Okay… how about… these boots, and…” Ford paused, a pair of brown hiking boots in his hands. He took a deep breath. “How about the knife heel?” He asked quietly.

"Yes! Kick ass and take names! Why should women get to have the coolest and most dangerous footwear?! It’s 2012, we can do what we want!”

“... _Wait_.” Ford said, squinting. “...So this is a _women’s_ shoe… and if I were to wear this, _in public_ , that would be _fine_? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Well… It still varies depending on where you live, but in a town where people marry woodpeckers and raccoons, and the only two cops are the most married cops I’ve ever seen, pretty much anything goes.” Stan shrugged and admired the other boot. "You'll let me borrow these, right?"

Ford was genuinely surprised. “Wait… So when Soos brought that air mattress over to the Shack… and you were laughing… You weren’t laughing _at_ … You were…”

"I was laughing at Mabel trying to hook you two up! And Soos’ description of McGucket. Priceless. Nobody cares who you like, Ford. Not here anyways, times are different. The most famous talk show host on TV is an openly gay woman with a hot wife. And even if things weren’t like that, you know I’m always here to help you out. These studly charms attract people of _all_ genders, if you know what I mean.” Stan waggled his eyebrows and flexed his arms.

“Wait, _you’re_ …? But you always… You had those pin-up calendars!”

"Yeah, I swing both ways. I don’t exactly do a lot to hide it, I thought you knew.” Stan shrugged. It was just natural to him, he didn't care what others thought. Not anymore, at least.

“Well, I didn’t.” Ford leaned back against the shelves.

“Ford, I’ve been married to a man before.”

“You married an _animatronic gold miner_.” Ford said, crossing his arms.

"He was _male,_ and the best partner I’ve ever had. I'm sort of a gay marriage pioneer." Stan half joked.

"Gay _WHAT_?!" Ford was red at this point.

“Oh, yeah, that’s legal now. Mostly. I’d say give it another three or four years for the rest of the country to pull their heads outta their asses. I've got money riding on 2015.”

“ _Wait_. Why did Fiddleford _really_ leave the group? What did you--” Ford’s blush had reached the tips of his ears. “You’re trying to set me up! Stan! I’m not _ready_ to figure out where Fiddleford and I are at. I know it’s gotta happen, but I’m not sure if he’s even going to _like me_ in a few weeks.”

Stan kept a straight face. "I don't know what you’re talking about." He wasn't quite the smooth matchmaker his great-niece was, but he _was_ a firm believer in dating whoever was into you.

“Where did you send Fiddleford? What is he going to buy?”

"I sent him to the food court, remember? He's going to meet us there."

“Stan, please, I know you’re not telling the whole truth. Stan, I _can’t do this_. Not now.” Ford was pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You don’t have anything to worry about, Ford. I sent him to pick out a suit, okay? You looked like you needed a break anyways. I was going to try and hook the two of you up at the food court, but I'll leave you be, okay? You don't have to do anything you don't wanna do."

“Thank you, Stan.” Ford said, his blush dying down. “... I still want the knife heel, though.”

At the food court, Fiddleford was waiting with his shopping bags full of new clothes, and his old outfit. He'd worn the leisure suit out of the store, so proud of his new style. He sat at a table by himself, a little nervous that Stan and Ford would leave him there. He grinned when he saw the two brothers walking towards him, and waved his hand to signal them. Stan let out a low whistle at the sight of Fiddleford, impressed with his sense of style after having the bar set so low earlier. Ford stood perfectly still, a blush creeping back up on his face. _Oh no, he's still hot._

“Alright, knuckleheads. Time for questionably made corn dogs, then we get Fiddleford a new hat and a haircut.” Stan said, shaking his fist and leaving Ford and Fiddleford alone, heading towards a cart marked 'Meat Cute' to get lunch.

Fiddleford stared at his lap and fidgeted with the lapel of his jacket, he had to make sure he looked okay. "S-so...did ya get yerself some new boots?" Fiddleford asked, looking up at Stanford. Ford couldn’t help but notice that the green suit did wonders for Fiddleford's wrinkly old eyes.

“...I did, actually. Some hiking boots and… some heels. For stabbing.” Ford said, reaching into his plastic bag, pulling out the faux leather boots in question.

"Well, ain't those somethin! I bet you look mighty nice...er-- stabbin people in those boots...?"  Fiddleford tugged at his beard. Did this have to be the time to get tongue-tied?

“W-well… It’s better than having to carry around a knife… Right?” Ford stuttered.

"Sure! I suppose... It sure is awful nice fer Stanley to be treatin' us. I'm mighty grateful for gettin' to stay with you two and those kids." Fiddleford said softly.

“I’m glad you’re here, Fidds…” Ford said. “... You don’t… Do you mind? That I call you Fidds?”

Fiddleford shook his head with a smile. "I don't mind." It felt so good to be called by his sweet nickname again, especially now that he remembered what it was and who gave it to him.

“...Fidds, when we get back… Do you--”

“Alright, nerds, I got the meat! What’d I miss?” Stanley said, plopping down a box of corn dogs and taking a seat.

Fiddleford almost yelped, he wasn't prepared for the moment to be ruined. “Well, Stanford was just showin off his fancy stabbin boots.”

“Oh, yeah, those are great.” Stan said, munching on a corn dog. “...You two gonna eat anytime soon?”

Fiddleford gingerly took his corndog and began to eat after Stan and Ford started, he didn’t want to be the odd one out. “I do appreciate you doin’ this fer us, Stanley.”

“I told you, don’t worry about it. This is your paycheck, remember? I owe you.” Stan said. Because of Fiddleford, the Mystery Shack was still running, Stan and Ford had gotten the chance to make up, and after all Fiddleford did for them during Shiva? Stan couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud, but he really was glad Fiddleford was around.

Fiddleford found himself chewing on the corndog stick when he was done and quickly snapped out of it. Ever since he started eating regularly again, his appetite had grown.

“So… the suit looks nice.” Ford said, clasping his hands together. “Green’s… a good color, on you.”

Stanley had to force himself not to grin like an idiot.

Fiddleford fumbled for words and tugged at his beard. “W-well, that’s mighty sweet of you to say, S-Stanford.” He managed to blurt out. “Though, I wouldn’ta got it without Stanley’s advice.”

“Well, every man needs a suit, that’s what I always say.” Stan said, sipping on a soda to try and hide a smirk. “All we have to do is shave that small animal off of your face and you’ll be lookin’ almost as sharp as me!”

“Aw, shucks, you’ve already done so much fer me, you don’ halfta get me a haircut!” Fiddleford said.

“No. I do. Trust me, you’ll look like a completely different person, and you’ll feel a lot better once you’ve got that thing off your face.” Stanley insisted. “If everyone’s done, let’s get a move on to the barber. There should be one on the second floor.”

Fiddleford got up from his seat, standing a little straighter than usual, and grabbed his shopping bag. Ford couldn’t help but notice that Fiddleford stood up to his shoulders now that he wasn’t hunched over. Fiddleford happily followed Stanley to the escalator and reluctantly hopped on, cackling like a maniac as they rode their way to the second level. “This is like that carnival all over again!” He said.

“You know, you’d be surprised how many dimensions don’t have these.” Ford said, trying to focus less on all the people around him and more on just getting to the hairdressers. It was a nice shop, classy, but not too expensive. There weren’t very many customers in the shop, and it was very quiet.

Stanley pulled Fiddleford up to the front counter to address the pretty young lady looking through the appointment book. “Hey there, gorgeous, my friend here needs to do something about his facial hair.”

“ _Stan_.” Ford hissed. “ _Stop flirting._ ”

The young lady giggled and waved her hand. “I don’t mind, I’ve gotten much worse, from people I’ve known for a lot less time than Stan.” She turned to address Fiddleford with the appointment book and a pen in her hands. “What’s your name honey, and what are we doin’ to ya? I see you wanna trim your beard. Are you gettin rid of it all together?”

“No! I-I mean, I want to keep some of it.” Fiddleford tugged at his beard once more. His beard had kept him warm for so many years, it was a part of who he was. “Maybe… a few inches above this here bandage? It won’t come out, an’ believe me, I’ve done tried about everythin’ I could think of. Oh, and my name is Fiddleford.”

“That’s a new one! I’ll take care of it, dear. Go take a seat in that chair over there and we’ll get you started.” She pointed to an empty chair in front of a mirror and wrote Fiddleford’s name down. The hairdresser that came out to work on Fiddleford’s beard couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, and looked like she was fresh out of beauty school. She wore her black hair tied back away from her face, and a blue turtleneck sweater.

“Alright, Fiddleford, just leave a couple inches?” She said, gently running her fingers through Fiddleford’s beard to mark how short it should be. “Like this?”

“Yes, that should do the trick.” Fiddleford took a deep breath. He gripped the chair as he was spun around to face his hairdresser and she grabbed her scissors.

Every muscle in Ford’s body tensed in that moment. His hand flicked down to his coat pocket, where he knew he’d stashed a switchblade, and fumbled around with it, fingers gripping the hilt, careful to not let anyone else in the room know he had a weapon.

She snipped at Fiddleford’s beard, right above the bandage, and a pile of his hair fell to the floor. “Wow, you must have been growing this out for years!”

Ford glared at the poor hairdresser, a glare that said _touch him again and **perish**_. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stan quickly shake his head at him, pleading with him not to mess this up for any of them. Ford only gripped the concealed switchblade tighter.

The hairdresser trembled at Ford’s glare and placed her scissors aside. “How a-about we shampoo what’s left of you…?”

“Well, Fiddleford, you take your time, Ford and I are gonna wait outside, don’t wanna crowd anyone!” Stan said, grabbing Ford by the arm and dragging him away, to a bench just outside the salon. “Ford, they’re hairdressers, not _assassins_!”

“ _Stanley, I swear, if that woman so much as harms a hair on his head I’ll destroy her._ ” Ford said through clenched teeth, pacing around outside the salon, still gripping the knife in his pocket.

“That’s the _idea_ , Ford.”

“ _Letting someone behind you with a goddamn **knife** , it’s practically suicide! Well, damn it all if I’m gonna let anything happen to Fidds, not **again**._ ” It took every ounce of self-control Ford had to not charge back into the salon and drag Fiddleford out of there, at any costs.

“Ford, they’re _scissors_. If she hurts him, she’ll go to _jail_ , and what’s worse, she’ll have _you_ to deal with. Just take a few deep breaths.” Stanley placed a hand on Ford's shoulder and took a deep breath, trying to get Ford to do it with him. “You’re gonna be fine, Fiddleford is gonna be fine... What's got you so protective of him all of the sudden?"

“Stan, I’m protective of everything, you _know_ that.” Ford said, furrowing his brow.

"Yeah, of your possessions. And your family.” Stan paused, smirking. “I knew you had the hots for him, Ford!"

“He’s my _friend_ , first and foremost.” Ford said, still glaring at the salon. “I can’t lose him again.”

Stanley sighed and placed his hands on his hips. "He won't get hurt. He's going to come out of that salon looking and feeling better than he probably has on a while. If you can't trust the barber, at least trust _me_."

Ford took a deep breath and sat down on the bench. “...I still think it’s dangerous.” He muttered.

Stan took a seat next to Ford and chuckled, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I go there all the time, the ladies there love me, they're gonna do a fine job on Fiddlenerd."

“I figured… I still don’t trust them, but that receptionist said she knew you…” Ford sighed, furrowing his brow.

“Stanford? You doing okay?” Stan asked.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. When I walked out of the portal I was fine, but the more time passes the worse I get, I feel like I’m losing my mind all over again…” Ford paused, taking a deep breath. “Remember at the bar mitzvah?” Tears welled up in Ford’s eyes at the thought of that night, but he blinked them away: he had to get this off his chest. “When Alexandria and I ducked out of the party… She gave me her business card. She was a therapist, apparently. I’m still kicking myself for not figuring it out sooner. I was going to schedule an appointment with her. Finally get some help. And _now_ look what happened.”

Stanley could feel his heart shatter. "Ford… you know that's not your fault right? It was all a freak accident. At least we know that she really cared about you... She was a good woman." Stanley placed a hand on Ford's back. "You could still get help, if you wanted. I could find someone who would help you."

“Yeah, someone who wouldn’t immediately call the authorities or _worse_? Stan, it wasn’t just because she was a therapist, I _trusted_ her. And she trusted me, she trusted _us,_ and I let her and her husband down.” Ford sighed. “Let’s just drop it, okay? This was supposed to be a good day until I started blathering…”

"I'll drop it if you want me to, but you can't blame yourself, Ford." Stan sighed and let go of his brother's back.

Soon after Stan and Ford's silence, Fiddleford stepped out of the barber shop, looking around for Stan so he could pay. His beard was trimmed close to his face, but still had enough to be a terrible mall Santa. It suited him. He waved when he spotted Stan and Ford.

“See? What’d I tell ya? Looks good, eh?” Stan said, elbowing Ford. Ford gave a crooked smile, his face turning a bit pink.

“Yeah, I suppose he does.”

Stan got up from the bench and popped his back with a wince, and strolled back into the shop to pay for Fiddleford's makeover, being sure to apologize for Ford, he’s still messed up from Vietnam, see? This Vietnam, not any other alternate version of Vietnam. Multiverse theory? What’s that?

Fiddleford sat next to Ford on his bench while Stan smooth talked his favorite hairdressers. "So...what do you think?"

“You look nice, Fidds. It suits you.” Ford said, fidgeting nervously.

"Thank you... And thanks for lookin out for me back there. She didn't hurt nothin but my beard."

Ford paled, he hadn’t thought that Fiddleford would notice that. “S-sorry. S-sci-scissors just… Scare me?” Ford wasn’t looking at Fiddleford, he was too nervous to try and come up with a decent lie.

“Aw, hush, you don’ halfta sugarcoat nothin’ fer me.” Fiddleford smiled gently and stroked his newly cropped beard. "You and yer brother are rather nice."

“Thank you…” Ford said, giving Fiddleford a light smile. “Fidds, when we get home, how about we take a break from the memory machine? Just sit out on the porch for a while?”

"I would like that!" Fiddleford grinned and clutched his shopping bags. "One thing I do remember, is that Gravity Falls is mighty beautiful this time'a year."

“Yeah, if you like things that are _terrible_.” Stan said, walking up to the two of them and putting his wallet away. “The only thing this time of year is good for is ending the tourist season so I can get some decent shut eye every once in a while. You two ready to go?”

“I believe we are, Stanley.” Ford said, a soft smile spreading across his face.

Fiddleford nodded and stood up with Ford, standing tall and confident with his new look. He looked like a skinny leisure suit Santa Claus, but that was Fiddleford's newfound aesthetic. Ford couldn’t help but smile at Fiddleford’s confidence, it was a welcome sight after so long.

The three old men made their way back to the Stanley Mobile, and on the road back to the Shack. Ford sat with Fiddleford in the back seat, partially to keep him company, and partially so he’d have a distraction from Stan’s various... comments, gestures, and reactions towards other drivers.

Thankfully, they made it to the Shack in one piece, about an hour before the kids would get off of the bus. Fiddleford excitedly ran inside to put away his new clothes, and get ready for his possibly-a-date with Ford. He changed into the more casual pink golf pants, and a new solid purple button up. He paused for a moment, before grabbing his banjo and heading out to the porch. Stanford was already sitting on the old couch outside, with an unopened Pitt Cola in each hand.

“I, uh, grabbed you one from the fridge.” Ford said, handing a soda to Fiddleford. “...Today was a good day, overall.”

Fiddleford leaned his banjo on the arm of the couch and took the soda from Ford. "I agree. I'm feelin' like a million bucks."

“I’m glad… And, I’m… Sorry about freaking out earlier, at the salon.” Ford said, opening his soda with a slight hiss.

"It’s quite alright. I reckon that you had a bad run in with someone wieldin' scissors, and you were just lookin' out for me." Fiddleford opened his soda and took a big gulp.

Ford stared at the man next to him. “...I suppose you could say that, yes. The… The other side of the portal was _awful_ , and I…” Ford took a deep, shaky breath. “I hope you _never_ have to go through anything like it.” _Not again._ “After a while it… It messes with your head.”

"I'm sorry that you had to go through that yerself." Fiddleford looked up to Ford with genuine sympathy. "You seem ta have come out of it alright! I've seen crazier folks down at the junkyard." Fiddleford set his cola down and grabbed his banjo, casually plucking the strings. "People have tried to take this here banjo from me for no good reason other than bein' mean-spirited. It's the only thing I've got from the past-times… so I've had to scare some folks off who I’m most certain were crazier than you."

“...Thank you?” Ford said. “Uh, you still play… You still play really well. I never thought I’d miss the sound of banjo music so much.”

Fiddleford started to play a familiar tune, an old Fleetwood Mac that sounded particularly good on a banjo. Fiddleford hummed along, and looked the most relaxed Ford had seen him since Fiddleford was rescued from the bunker.

“Fiddleford… I’m sorry about what happened between us. About when we... er, broke up the first time, and about your memories.” Ford said, after a long while.

Fiddleford stopped and looked back up at Ford. "Well...I don't recall why broke up, and I know the memories had something to do with our work… but I don't blame you none. No matter who you were back then, you're a pretty nice feller now. And that's what matters, doesn't it?" Fiddleford took another sip of his Pitt Cola.

Ford froze. “...You know… Before she died, Alexandria tried to tell me the same thing?” He said, tears forming behind his eyes.

"Is that so...? She sounds like a smart lady." Fiddleford smiled and lightly touched Ford's shoulder.

“Very smart, she was a psychologist.” Ford slowly leaned into the touch. “Do you… Fidds, do you think I let them down?” A tear slid down his face.

"Not at all, Stanford. You gave ‘em a chance to say goodbye to their kiddos. An’ all of that you went through for their memorial? And you takin' care of those kids? You're doin' them some good. I reckon they're smilin' down on you." Fiddleford petted Ford's arm gently to console him.

“You know, Fidds?” Ford said, after a while. “I think… you might be right.”

Fiddleford slowly reached to grab Ford’s hand, entwining Ford’s fingers with his. “Of course I'm right. I usually am ‘bout this sorta thing."

Ford squeezed his hand tighter around Fiddleford’s, as he watched Dipper and Mabel’s silhouettes came into view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, everyone! If you like it be sure to let us know, and you can comment below if you have any questions about the fic! The next chapter will be up soon!  
> (lord-of-vaginas-and-time.tumblr.com and greenllamajeans.tumblr.com)


	10. Dip's Declassified School Survival Guide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2-5-18-11-12-5-25'19 13-15-20-8-5-18 11-14-5-23 20-15-15 13-21-3-8, 14-15-23 8-5'19 1-12-12 19-8-5 8-1-19

The bus was crowded.

Dipper huddled closer to the window, not caring that the metal of the bus was too cold against his skin. Mabel sat next to her brother with her backpack in her lap. She shook a leg with anxiety, but she couldn't tell if it was good or bad anxiety yet. Their stop was first, so they’d gotten first pick of the seats. Dipper picked the third seat from the front. Not too close where the weird kids sat, but not in the most likely reserved seats for cool kids in the back. Unless, of course, Oregon used a different social hierarchy than San Francisco had. Dipper pulled his journal closer to his chest. Everything was different now, and he wanted more than anything to go back to the Shack and just spend the rest of the day doing weird science with Ford.

Mabel almost leapt out of her seat when Candy and Grenda boarded the bus, a few stops away. The three girls squealed at each other, and the duo of Candy and Grenda took the seat across from Dipper and Mabel.

"We are so excited that you are going to our school!" Candy adjusted her glasses and smiled. "You will get used to it in no time. Do you have your schedules?"

“Yep! How many classes do we have together?” Mabel said, digging her schedule out of her pocket.

Grenda grabbed it and scanned over it quickly. "You only have one with me, but we have lunch at the same time!" Grenda passed the schedule over to Candy. "What about you, Dipper?"

Dipper looked a little shocked that Mabel's friends were interested in his schedule too. "Um… let me see. I think Mabel and I have most of the same classes." Dipper fished his out of his vest pocket and passed it down. They did have the same classes, since Dipper opted out of honors classes in his new school. Being new was bad enough, but new and overloaded with homework and projects? Not ideal. Thankfully, neither Stan nor Ford had pushed him to apply for them anyways.

Candy speedread the two schedules and giggled softly. "We have a lot of classes together! You have PE with me and Grenda, and we have history together too."

Mabel took the schedules back and handed Dipper his. "You guys are gonna show us around right?"

“Of course!” Grenda said. “And during lunch, I’ll show you how to get _on. The. Roof._ ”

“Really?” Dipper seemed pretty excited at the notion. Being on the roof of the school would take the stress away from finding a lunch table.  "Count us in."

The bus took thirty minutes to make its way to Northwest Middle School. As the kids stampeded off of the bus, Pacifica Northwest's limousine pulled up to the school, and the Northwest family driver let Pacifica out of the back seat. Mabel waved excitedly and shouted "HI PACIFICA IT'S YOUR PAL MABEL!" which made Pacifica blush and turn away. Mabel grinned "We're _totally_ gonna be best friends."

"I don't know Mabel. Pacifica was sort of cool this summer, but she is known to be cold and heartless at school." Candy explained as she led them all inside. Dipper tucked his journal into his vest, and gripped the straps of his backpack.

Mabel shook her head. "Nah, I know she can be a total sweetie." She elbowed Dipper and smiled. "Here we go, brobro." In the fifteen minutes before school officially started, Candy and Grenda gave the twins a little tour, showing them where they could find their classrooms and where their lockers were.

Pacifica Northwest’s heeled shoes clicked against the linoleum as she walked into the school, searching the crowd for her clique. Preston and Priscilla Northwest weren’t the type to allow their daughter to be associated with the “riffraff” of the town, but sending Pacifica to a faraway boarding school would mean sending her to a place where they could no longer control her, and no longer parade her as the town darling. Pacifica hated school with every fiber of her being, but when your parents are the richest and most powerful people in town, you can’t really object, much to her disdain. When she finally caught up with her clique, she put on a smile to greet them.

“Jenny, Denise, Martha, Heather. What’s the latest gossip?” She said in her snottiest voice.

“We’ve got a couple new losers at school, other than that, nothing’s new.” Denise said, filing her nails.

“I hear the boy’s name is _Dipper_ , what kind of name is that? His parents must hate him or something." Heather scoffed.

Pacifica swallowed the urge to kick Heather in the nose, and smoothly replied, “Wait, Dipper Pines? I’ve actually met him, he and his sister were at my family’s gala this summer.”

“Wasn’t _everyone_ at your family’s gala this summer?” Martha deadpanned.

“Dipper and Mabel were invited beforehand.” Pacifica said, with a wave of her hand, authority in her voice. “Their uncle is some bigshot PhD with a research grant that makes Jenny’s parent’s paychecks look like pennies.”

Jenny balked and stuttered “I thought their uncle ran that ugly _tourist trap_ out in the woods?”

“Oh my god, Jenny. People can have more than one uncle. It’s not like their gross wrinkly grandparents always have to stop at two kids or anything, there’s not a _limit_.”

Mabel waved at Pacifica and her posse from her locker across the hall, a big bracey smile on her face.

“Oh my god, _Pacifica_ ,” Jenny mocked. “What is she wearing? Are those _pushpins_ in her ears?”

“Oh, Mabel designs her own clothes. It’s called _couture_. Themed outfits are all the rage in San Francisco. Maybe if your parents could afford the trip you’d know that.” It was one thing to insult Pacifica’s friends, but it was quite another to insult Pacifica’s friends while also undermining her authority in the group. Pacifica waved back to Mabel, smirking at her friends. "She's probably cooler than all of you put together, so you better watch what you say to her _and_ her twin brother. I don’t seem to recall _any_ of you being on the original guest list for the gala last summer."

Mabel pumped her fist when Pacifica waved back. "Told ya!" The bell rang abruptly, making Dipper jump.

“They also don’t have school bells in San Francisco.” Pacifica added quickly. Pacifica's lackeys 'ooo'd and 'ahh'd while they shuffled off to class.

Dipper used the school provided map to navigate to his first class, even though Candy and Grenda already showed him. He wasn't going to take any chances, not on his first day. Mabel tagged along behind Dipper and they survived their journey to first period. Homeroom.

The classroom was like any other normal classroom. Desks were lined up in columns, the teacher's desk sat in front of a whiteboard/projector setup, kids filed into the class and took their seats without any worries. Mabel scanned the room for two empty seats side by side, and pulled Dipper to sit on the second row with her. "Perfect!" The class was already crowded enough without Dipper and Mabel being added to the roster, but thankfully Dipper and Mabel managed to find two empty desks near each other.

Their teacher, Mrs. Chandler, sluggishly stomped in the class and sat at her computer, pulling up the class roster to take attendance. "Olson, O'Malley, Owens..." She kept going, looking up from her list to check the kids she knew by name and face, "Patterson, Perez...Pines? Max and Mabel Pines? It seems we have some new students. Max and Mabel, raise your hands."

Dipper looked like a deer in headlights and glanced to his sister, who already shot her hand up in the air. "Here! We're here!"

“I-I go by _Dipper_ , a-actually.” He said in a small voice.

"Dipper...? Alright then..." The teacher typed that down in her computer. "Where are you two from? Are you twins?"

They hated the 'are you twins' question. Their favorite responses were "Technically no, we hatched from separate eggs by our velociraptor mother" or "No, we're clones" but this was not the time to be sarcastic.

Mabel put her hand down and clasped her hands together on her desk. "Yes, we're twins, and we're from San Francisco. We moved here… recently." She said. Dipper sunk as low in his seat as possible, trying desperately not to think about _why_ they’d had to move, and prayed that Mrs. Chandler didn’t ask them.

The teacher responded with a simple, "Hm. Interesting. Welcome to Northwest Middle School." And continued the roll call.

Mabel passed a note to Dipper, written in her pink gel pen saying, 'it’s gonna be ok' with a little smiley face on the bottom. Dipper took it and, not wanting Mrs. Chandler to see and get in trouble, stashed the note inside his journal.

Mabel doodled in her sketch journal for the rest of the class and hopped up once the bell rang and students started packing up their supplies. A couple of them stared with curiosity at the Pines Twins, but Mabel easily ignored them. Dipper, however, was not so fortunate.

“Mabel, everyone’s staring at me. I haven’t talked to them yet and already they think I’m a freak.” He whispered, keeping close to his sister.

"No they don't, Dipdop. They're just curious, we're the new kids. They probably want to talk to you but they're too shy. Just give everyone a chance!" Mabel patted Dipper's shoulder and weaved through the crowded halls with surprising ease.

Dipper pulled his journal out of his vest pocket and sighed. “Maybe I should call Great Uncle Ford…”

Mabel stopped and turned to Dipper. "No, you shouldn't. You haven't even gotten to a real class yet. I know you're scared, but once you finish this day out, you'll be proud of yourself. I know you will be. Don't give up so easy. Let’s just put our books away and go to gym.” Mabel said, gesturing to their lockers.

“... Alright.” Dipper said, fumbling with the combination to his locker before it opened with a _click_. “Aw, geez.”

“What is it?” Mabel asked, poking her head above Dipper’s shoulder.

“I must have forgotten my science book at home, it’s not in here.” Dipper said, putting his journal in the locker. “I hope I can just borrow someone else’s…”

Mabel handed hers over to Dipper. "I've got your back! Now put away all those books, we'll be late for P.E.!"

Dipper stacked Mabel's science book, his other textbooks, and his journal in his locker, and slammed it shut so it would stick. "I'd rather read all of those textbooks cover to cover than go to gym right now."

Candy and Grenda waited by the door to the gymnasium to meet up with the twins for P.E. Grenda pulled out what looked like two spare sets of clothes from her backpack. "I brought my extra gym clothes in case you guys didn't have any! They were from last year so they should fit you!"

“Thanks, Grenda.” Dipper said, smiling a bit and holding up the clothes to his body. “Yeah, I think these’ll work. Maybe you were right, Mabel. Things are probably gonna be alright.”

"I'm _always_ right!" Mabel shouted, punching Dipper's arm. She followed her friends into the gym and took a deep breath as they approached the locker rooms. "See you on the outside, Dipper." Mabel pulled sunglasses from her backpack and put them on as she walked into the changing room " _I'm going in."_

Dipper headed into the boy’s locker room and changed into his own gym clothes, he and a few other students filed out onto the basketball court, sitting on the floor, to wait for the coach to come out of his office. Their gym teacher, one Coach Berkley, was a tower of a man. He stood six feet tall, wore a cheesy yellow T-shirt that only barely covered his pot belly, and gross black gym shorts. His greasy blonde hair was parted to one side, angling down towards one eye, and he winked about every five seconds. Though he didn’t exactly look the part, Coach Berkley enjoyed teaching gym, and rarely sat on the sidelines during class. Though, after an incident a few years ago involving the placement of five girls named Ashley Smith in one of his classes, he’d taken to giving every student a nickname.

“Good morning, Shortstack, Footloose, Kidney Bean.” The coach said, marking attendance on a clipboard. “If you see a Mabel and a Mason Pines let me know.”

Something about his appearance had Dipper on edge. Before Dipper could put his finger on the cause, their teacher caught sight of Dipper and blew his whistle loudly.

"Hey, you, pipsqueak. Take off that hat, now. You’re out of dress code.”

“W-what? But I’ve been wearing it all day and no one said anything!” Dipper stuttered, clutching his hat.

“Look, I don’t care if no one said anything, _I’m_ saying it now. Just hand me the hat, you can have it back after class. You’re the new kid, right? Mason? Look, you probably didn’t know so I won’t write you up, just hand me the hat.”

Dipper froze, his hands were glued to the hat on his head. "I need it." He whimpered.

“Look, kid, if you’ve got a scar or acne or something, I can get you a sweatband or a giant bandaid, just take off the hat, it’s against school rules.” Coach Berkley said, grabbing Dipper’s hat with a firm yank. “Oh, guess you’re insecure about that thing, huh?” He remarked, taking note of Dipper’s birthmark.

“Give it back, please!” Dipper squeaked, trying to grab at the hat.

“Look, kid, you can have it back after school.” He paused, staring at the hat. “Well, I guess nicknaming you after your birthmark would be too cruel. Howsabout I just call you... Pine Tree?”

" _Nope._ ” Dipper said, running out of the gym, ignoring Coach Berkley screaming at him to come back.

Mabel popped out of the locker room, wearing Grenda’s giant gym clothes, and looked around for her brother. "Dipper?" She spotted the gym teacher with Dipper's hat and gasped, "What did you do with Dipper?!"

“Who?” The coach said, before it hit him. “Hey, earrings girl, I know a thing or two about giving people nicknames, and you can’t go around nicknaming people for birthmarks they can’t control. Especially if they’re as insecure as that kid.” Coach Berkley explained.

"My Dad gave him that nickname when we were born, you… you _jerk_!" Mabel exclaimed and snatched the hat from the teacher, speeding out of the Gym like her brother did.

“...What on earth?” Coach Berkley asked himself.

Mabel found her brother in the empty girl’s locker room, pacing around, chewing on a pen.

“Mabel! I found you! Listen, we’ve gotta get outta here, we’ve gotta go back to the Shack!” Dipper said, grabbing Mabel’s shoulders.

Mabel gasped, "What happened? I saw the coach took your hat, but was he really that mean to you?”

“Mabel, he’s _Bill_.” Dipper said, grabbing her wrist and leading her out of the locker room and down the hallway.

Mabel skidded her feet to try and stop them, but Dipper kept pulling. "Dipper, wait, are you sure? He acted like a jerk, but not like _Bill._ "

“He called me _Pine Tree._ He’s Bill! We’ve gotta call Great Uncle Ford!”

“Dipper, he didn't call me Shooting Star! He didn't know who I was, I asked where you went and he didn't know your name either! He's just stupid, he's not Bill! I saw his eyes, they were regular! He probably just saw the tree on your hat, and thought you didn’t want to be named after your birthmark. He called me 'earrings girl’! How lame is that?!"

“Hey, kids! Stop!” Coach Berkley yelled, huffing after the two. “Forget the hat, kid, I’d rather you and I _both_ get written up for ignoring the dress code than see you get truancy charges.” He paused. “What had you so spooked? Was it something I said?”

Dipper glared at the coach, putting himself between Coach Berkley and Mabel. He walked as close to the portly gym coach as he dared, checking his eyes. “...I guess you are just a lame jerk…” He muttered under his breath.

"You kids are lucky I'm not throwing you in detention for skipping class! Go run laps with the other kids before I change my mind." The coach paused. “...Dipper, right? That’s what your sister called you?”

“...Yeah.” Dipper said, fidgeting with his gym clothes, still uneasy.

“Look, I know it’s tough being in a new place, and I know you’re probably scared. But believe me, the last thing I want to do is make a student upset. I’m not entirely sure what had you spooked back there, but I know I was the one who caused it, so, I’m sorry.” Coach Berkley knelt down and offered his hand. “I’ll let you wear the hat during gym to make up for it, but once you leave class I can’t make any promises. Alright?”

Dipper reluctantly took the Coach's hand and shook, firmly like Grunkle Stan taught him. "Alright..."

“And, hey, if anyone or any _thing_ is trying to mess with you, you call me or another teacher, alright?” Coach Berkley said. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but this town gets a little weird.”

Dipper retracted his hand and shoved it in his pocket. "Yeah, okay."

"Now get out of the hallway and go run. I won't tell anybody you ran away from class if you don't.” Coach Berkley said, winking.

“Thanks. Can you… not wink so much? It kinda reminds me of… someone else.” Dipper said, adjusting his hat and squinting up at the coach, double checking his eyes.

“Sure thing, Dipper.” Coach Berkley gave a thumbs up this time, though now he was even more worried about his new student.

Mabel pulled Dipper back to the gym, the coach following them. "Dipper, we almost got in _trouble._ ” Mabel whispered, "I know you were scared but you have to think stuff through before you start freaking out!"

“Look, I’m _sorry_ , but if it _had_ been Bill he could have hurt us! Hurt _you_! He-- he could have called a conference with Grunkle Stan to get him to let him through the barrier!” Dipper said, tugging at his shirt.

Mabel sighed and crossed her arms. "I guess I see your point. But will you run stuff by me first next time?"

“...Fine. Speaking of running, we should probably get on that, before Coach Berkley decides to give us detention for real.”

The rest of gym class went without a hitch, and the next two classes passed by with surprising ease, some kids said hello to the twins and made small talk. Dipper was relieved when the lunch bell rang, that meant the day was halfway over.

“Alright, guys.” Grenda said, coming up behind them and grabbing their shoulders. “Dipper. Mabel. Are you ready for the coolest lunch you’ve ever _experienced_?!”

“Uh, sure?” Dipper said, shrugging. “So, we’re gonna eat--”

“On. The. _Roof_.” Grenda said, practically yelling every word. “Come on!”

Mabel and Candy giggled as Grenda grabbed Dipper and dragged him to the stairs by his band laws. She led them up the stairs and through a set of double doors, out onto the roof…

...Where the regular cafeteria was?

“When they were building the school, they forgot to add an actual cafeteria.” Candy explained. “So the faculty moved all the tables up here, and we just eat lunch on the roof.”

“Oh,” Dipper said. “Well at least we’re not breaking the rules by being up here?”

Mabel looked around for a table, and spotted Pacifica at a much nicer table than the rest of the school, and with a much nicer lunch too. The Pacifica posse were all gathered around, gossiping more than eating. Mabel waved and shouted across the roof, "PACIFICA, ANY MORE ROOM OVER THERE, BUDDY?"

Pacifica nearly jumped at the noise, but once she realized it was just Mabel she regained her composure. “Of course, Mabel. We have four more empty seats.” She said with a smirk, sending a quiet threat to anyone who dared undermine her.

Mabel practically skipped over to Pacifica's table and pulled out her sack lunch, planting her butt right next to Pacifica. Dipper, Candy, and Grenda followed suit, a little hesitant to sit with the popular girls. Dipper took a seat across from Mabel, and after receiving a glare from Pacifica, the other popular girls scooted away in disgust to make room for Grenda and Candy.

Mabel and Dipper each had an apple, a bag of trail mix, cheese crackers, some old man hard candy, and a sandwich labeled 'the grunkle stanwich.'

Mabel grinned at her lunch and started to munch on the crackers. "This school isn't so bad! I think I'll like it here. Does anyone want to trade for my trail mix? Any takers?" Mabel waves her ziploc baggie at the other girls.

Candy offered a fruit roll up. "I'll take it, I enjoy crunchy things." She leaned over a prissy girl, Martha, to grab Mabel's trail mix, making the snob scoff.

Pacifica cleared her throat. “So, Dipper, I was just telling my friends here about your uncle. The one with the PhD. Isn’t it true that he worked on Ronald Reagan’s campaign team?” She said, noticing the way the other members of her clique were acting, and working out a way to put a stop to it in her head.

"Oh! Um, yes, he did. He's brilliant actually, he's invented all of these cool things, and he studies all of the paranormal activity in Gravity Falls! He's the reason I could help you with the ghost at your fancy gala."

“Paranormal activity?” Jenny asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That movie was lame."  Martha rolled her eyes.

“Pacifica, you didn’t mention Dipper being _hired help_ at your fancy gala.” Heather said, narrowing her eyes.

“ _That’s_ because he wasn’t. Dipper and Mabel were invited guests, as well as their friends Candy and Grenda. _Maybe_ if you can’t recognize social class, you’re not _fit_ to be in the clique, _Heather_.” Pacifica said, matter of factly. If she couldn’t stop these girls from causing a fuss and making her friends uncomfortable, then she sure as heck could take them down a few pegs. “And Jenny, Martha, you _can’t_ be serious! You’re telling me that you _didn’t once_ read any of my status updates over the summer? I livetweeted an entire ghost attack! You must not really be my friends.”

Mabel was touched that Pacifica was standing up for her and her friends, though she was a bit concerned Pacifica was pushing away her own friends. She knew how much social status meant in Pacifica's world. "It was quite the spectacle!" Mabel added, trying to lighten up the conversation. “Everyone was turned into a tree, and Pacifica had to break a curse on her family’s name!”

“I got a rich Austrian Prince’s phone number!” Grenda added.

"He was dreamy." Candy mused.

Dipper munched on his 'stanwich' as he watched the drama ensue.

The popular crew pouted, knowing if they blew Pacifica off, they could be replaced in a second, so they went back to eating.

Mabel passed a note to Pacifica at the table, with pink gel pen and hearts over the I's, reading, 'thanks for being so nice Pacifica' and a sweet smiley face doodle. Mabel grinned at Pacifica and chewed on her fruit roll up. Pacifica flashed Mabel a smile, before taking a bite of her own fancy lunch, and getting back to the gossip.

After lunch, Dipper and Mabel returned to their lockers to get ready for their last classes. It seemed all of their electives and easy classes got squished in before lunch, and they saved the worst for last. Dipper spun the combination to his locker and did a double take when he noticed all of his books were missing. "What the...! Mabel! Did you get into my locker?"

"Why the dink would I do that?" Mabel looked over her shoulder to peer into her brother's locker. "Someone stole your books! My science book was in there! Grunkle Stan will be _so_ mad if he has to pay for a lost book!"

“Well, my _journal_ was in there! Great Uncle Ford gave me that!” Dipper said, before he paused. He inspected his locker closely, finding a sticky film of what looked like _glitter_ covering the bottom of his locker. "Hmm...” He dug in his vest pocket for a few pages he had copied from Ford's journals, he’d always kept a few for emergencies. He flipped through the xeroxed pages. _Vampires, zombies, Bill, pixies, hide-behind..._ "Wait!" Dipper said aloud. "Pixies: Pesky and mischievous creatures with a knack for petty theft and vandalism. They excrete a shimmery substance called pixie dust that can be found at the scene of their crimes.... Mabel, the school has a pixie infestation!"

Mabel frowned, looking at Ford’s drawing of a pixie. "I thought pixies were supposed to be cute."

"You're thinking of faeries, those are cute, these are their deadbeat cousins. We've gotta find them and get our books back!” Dipper said, tucking the paper back into his vest pocket.

“Alright, but how do we do that without skipping class?” Mabel said. “We already dodged a bullet once, we can’t skip. And we can’t go into class without our books, either.”

“Mabel, I hate to say this, but we need to find Coach Berkley.” Dipper said, folding his fingers. “He said this town could get weird, he probably knows about the paranormal. And if we have a teacher with us we can’t get in trouble.”

“Well, I guess it’s worth a shot. He did say to come get him if anything tries to mess with us.” Mabel said, scratching her chin.

"I thought I'd never say this, but let's go to the gym!" Dipper exclaimed and pulled his hat tighter on his head, and the two were off.

Coach Berkley’s office was cluttered with old papers and older sports equipment, and usually smelled like turkey on rye, despite the fact that Coach Berkley had never eaten turkey in his life. Nevertheless, Berkley enjoyed spending his lunch break in there. It was quiet, no students, no teachers, just him, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and the occasional cricket.

That is, until he saw something scaly skitter across his desk.

“Eep!” Berkley squeaked, jumping up from his desk and reaching for a manila folder to pick it up with. The creature was about four inches tall, with silver scaly skin that came off in flakes, pointed ears and teeth, and big black bug eyes. Berkley would have sworn it was a lizard, except for the fact that it was _humanoid._ “O-okay, weird, creepy thing. I don’t w-wanna hurt you, and you d-don’t wanna hurt me. So howsabout you just hop onto this folder, and I’ll toss ya outside, okay?” Berkley stuttered, trying to slide the folder underneath the creature’s feet. The creature didn’t seem to like that much, and pounced over the folder and onto Berkley’s hand, sinking its fangs into the coach's finger. It felt like getting a shot, it hurt enough to be annoying. "Hey, stop that!" Berkley screamed, dropping the folder and trying to shake the thing off his hand. “Get off me! I just wanna eat lunch!” Finally the thing let go, and was sent flying across the room. Berkley held his breath for a moment, before the creature stood up, shook itself off, and scurried away. “Phew... well at least I didn’t kill the thing.”

There was a knock at the door, followed by small voices, "Coach Berkley? Are you in there?"

Coach Berkley slowly walked over to the door, keeping an eye out for any more of those… whatever-they-weres. “Yeah, kids. I’m in here, what can I do for ya?” He said, opening the door.

"This is going to sound _crazy_ … but our textbooks have been stolen by pixies and we need your help to get them back." Dipper explained and handed Berkeley the page on pixies.

“Oh, that doesn’t sound crazy at all. I think just saw one in my office. Frankly, I’m surprised you two are so calm about the existence of pixies. How long have you been living in Gravity Falls again?” Coach Berkley said, scratching his chin. “This is very good, did you draw this?” He asked, handing the page back to Dipper.

"We stayed here over the summer..." Mabel sighed. "We've been dealing with this junk for a while now. Our uncle wrote some nerd books about these kinds of things, he’s kind of an expert.”

“So, let me get this straight, pixies stole your books, and you can’t get them back without skipping class, which is why you need me to come along? So you don’t get in trouble?”

“Uh-huh.” Mabel nodded.

"I'll write you two hall passes. We’ll say you were helping me sort out the equipment room when some polish got on your clothes and you had to clean yourselves off.” Coach Berkley said. “I’m not an expert, but I’m pretty sure pixies are known to kidnap children so I’ll be supervising you two.” Berkley reached into a drawer in his desk, filling out two hall passes. “So you stayed here over the summer? What’dya think about that earthquake?” He asked.

"It sure was...exciting!" Mabel smirked at Dipper knowingly. "It brought our family together, for sure."

“Between you and me, kids, I’m not so sure that was an _earthquake_. Though, being from San Francisco I’m sure you’d know more about those than I would.” Coach Berkley said, chuckling a bit. “Alright, I’ve got your hall passes. Do you know where these things might be hiding your stuff?”

"No, we don't, but they leave trails of pixie dust." Dipper examined the glittery silver stuff littering Coach Berkley's desk. "All we have to do is find the glitter."

Mabel swiped her finger across the desk and narrowed her eyes. "I'm a glitter _expert._ Let's get those books back!"

“Wait, let me grab a broom or something. Just in case.” Coach Berkley said, fumbling around the piles of old equipment for the old corn broom he kept in the back. “Alright, kids. Lead the way!”

Mabel searched the room for more pixie dust, finding some near the door. "This way!" She said, pointing her finger. She and Dipper rushed down the hall, Coach Berkley following behind, carrying the broom like a shotgun. A small trail led out of the gym, past a row of lockers, and into the school library. The school’s library was a large, circular room that took up two stories to hold the thousands of books inside. “Looks like they’re planning on stealing everyone’s books!” Mabel said, pushing open the door and entering the library. Two librarians were cowering behind their desk, clearly afraid of something.

“I think they’re just hiding out here, Mabel.” Dipper said, looking at the journal page. “It says here that pixies like to nest underneath Ringforts and Dolmens. Those are… kind of like the library? It’s definitely round like a Ringfort, and a table is essentially a Dolmen… Let’s just find our books and get to class as soon as possible.” Dipper said, tugging at his shirt.

“Hey, what’s that over there?” Coach Berkley asked, pointing to the far corner of the library.

Under one of the library tables, there was a little Dolmen fashioned out of textbooks. All of Dipper's books were close to the edge, tattered and torn by the pixies, and his journal was stacked on top, the pages coated in pixie dust.

“My journal!” Dipper cried, earning a _shh_ from the librarians who were cowering on the other side of the room. He grabbed his journal from the top of the makeshift Dolmen, frantically trying to scrub away the pixie dust. The slimy silvery flakes simply ground themselves further into the paper. “No, no, no! Great Uncle Ford gave me this!” He said, flipping through the pages, trying to find one that wasn’t damaged. The note Mabel had given him earlier fell to the floor, a tattered mess.

Dipper shivered when he received a chorus of hisses from the crowd of pixies hiding behind the books. He didn’t have time to jump back before the first of them pounced. One wasn’t nearly enough to injure a human, but there were easily fifty of the tiny creatures.

Mabel lunged for her brother and tried to swat the pixies away. "Shoo! Get a library card, these books are ours!" A couple of the critters latched themselves onto Mabel's arm with their sharp teeth, making Mabel squeal. "Hey, stop that!" She flung her arm, sending the pixies flying straight into the wall with a splat.

“You scaly freaks get off of my students!” Coach Berkley yelled, swatting the pixies away with the broom. Once enough of them fell away, Berkley grabbed Dipper and Mabel under one arm and fled the library, heading back towards the gym, where there was a door that led out to the soccer field. “Dipper, Mabel, are you alright?” He asked, sprinting as fast as he could with roughly two hundred pounds of thirteen year olds in his hands. The pixies were chasing after the trio, eager to get what they perceived to be their book back.

“I’m fine, Coach Berkley.” Mabel said, plucking a pixie from her elbow. “...Dipper?”

Dipper didn’t say anything, he just clutched his journal tighter, trying to ignore the hisses of the pixies behind them.

Coach Berkley practically kicked down the door to the soccer field, squinting at the sudden bright light. He raced down the sidewalk, past the flower bushes that lined the fence, and out onto the soccer field. The pixies gathered just outside the fence, antsy but no longer attacking. “I think… We’re safe for now, kids.” He said, gasping for breath. He gently set Dipper and Mabel down on the grass. “Are you two hurt?”

Mabel inspected her pixie bites, swollen up like mosquito bites. "I'm just a little itchy. Dipper, does your journal page say anything about pixie bites?"

Dipper sunk to the ground, hugging his knees. “I’m fine… Coach Berkley, do you have a phone? I-I wanna call my uncle so he can pick me up…”

Mabel frowned and sat down next to Dipper, pulling her band aids out of her backpack. "Did they get you, Dipper? Don't worry, we'll get the books back! We just have to distract them."

“I’m not _hurt_ , it’s just… I don’t _like_ it here...” Dipper trailed off, flipping through his ruined journal. “...I wanna go home.”

Mabel looked closer at Dipper's journal, realizing it was coated in sticky glittery goop, and sighed. "Oh man....I'm sorry about your journal, Dip... Maybe we _should_ just go home." Mabel leaned against her brother, defeated.

“Kids…” Coach Berkley sighed, sitting on the grass across from them. “I’m sorry about your books, and I’m sorry this town is filled with paranormal weirdness. I shouldn’t have let you two go off after these things.” Berkley glanced over to the fence, where the pixies were waiting for them just beyond the flower bushes. “I don’t have a cell with me, but they don’t seem to be attacking right now. Soccer practice starts at 3:30, we’ll just have to wait them out until then. Even if you two don’t come back to school tomorrow, I still enjoyed meeting you today.” He said with a smile.

Mabel wiped her eyes and sniffled. "I just want things to be normal again. I miss San Francisco. I miss Mom and Dad."

“I’m sorry…” Berkley said, realization dawning on his face. He put a hand their shoulders. “I know it’s hard, being in a new place. Especially once a new school year has started, and you don't know anybody."

“...I just feel _stuck_.” Dipper said, hugging his knees. “I want to go home, but I’m stuck _here_.”

“...Stuck… Dipper, that’s it!” Mabel said, jumping up. “That’s why the pixies were in the library! That’s why they aren’t attacking us now! They’re _stuck_!”

Dipper looked up at Mabel with doubt in his eyes. "I don't get what you mean."

“Think about it, when has a magical creature ever just _stopped_ attacking us?” Mabel asked, putting her hands on her hips.

“...Well, I guess Bill hasn’t attacked in a while, but that’s because of the--” Dipper’s eyes widened in realization. “Because of the _barrier_. Something around the school must have trapped those pixies inside!”

“Maybe it’s the flowers?” Coach Berkley said. “They were just planted over the weekend, and they’re all around the school. St. John’s Wort, I think.”

"That must be the pixie's weakness! We can catch them, and release them outside of school grounds.” Dipper said, standing up. “And I think I’ve got a plan… If Coach Berkley can distract the pixies with my journal, we can use the St. John’s Wort to herd the pixies off campus! We can just reach through the fence and pick as many flowers as we want.”

“Dipper, that’s a great idea! I’ll lure them towards the other end of the soccer field, closer to the forest. Once we’ve got the pixies off campus, we can just close the barrier with the flowers.” Coach Berkley said, standing up. “Alright, let’s do this. Hand me your journal. I’ll start distracting the pixies while you two get the flowers.”

Mabel sped over to the flower bushes as fast as her legs would take her and started picking flowers, hiking her sweater up to use as a pouch, and Dipper followed suit. Berkley grabbed Dipper’s journal climbed over the edge of the fence.

“Alright, you scaly creeps, you want this kid’s diary? Well, come get it!” He shouted, waving his arms. The swarm of pixies scrambled towards him, hoping to get close enough to attack, but Berkley was too quick.

Once Dipper and Mabel had enough flowers, they snuck through the gate, behind the pixies. Berkley kept backing up towards the forest, luring the pixies towards him with the book, and used his foot to kick over a bush of the St. John’s Wort, letting the pixies follow him outside the barrier. Once the last of the pixies were clear, Dipper and Mabel stuffed their flowers into the ground behind them, resealing the campus.

“Coach Berkley, get outta there!” Dipper yelled, once he and Mabel were done. Berkley nodded and threw the journal to Dipper, who barely caught it. Berkley ran around the swarm of pixies, being careful not to crush any, and vaulted over the bushes separating the school from the forest.

“You think that did it?” Coach Berkley asked, his hands on his knees.

The pixies stood just outside the barrier for a moment, as if trying to decide if they should claw their way back in, before skittering off into the forest, leaving a trail of pixie dust in the grass.

“Well, at least we got rid of the pixies. Even though all our books are ruined.” Dipper sighed, thumbing through his journal.

“And Grunkle Stan’s not going to be too happy about having to replace them after just one day…” Mabel said. “ _If_ we decide to come back.”

Coach Berkeley sighed and placed a hand on Dipper's shoulder. "Listen… I _may_ be able to pull some strings and replace your textbooks. I can sneak us into the room where we keep em and switch them out. No one will ever notice, believe me.”

“...Really?” Dipper asked, looking up at Berkley.

“Yeah. No one’s really going to believe us if we say _pixies_ destroyed your textbooks.” Coach Berkley said.

Mabel let out a big " _PHEW!"_ And wiped sweat from her brow. "But we can't replace Dipper's journal… I'm sorry Dipper."

“It’s okay… I guess I can just ask Ford for another one…” Dipper said, sighing. “I just wish I’d taken better care of this one.”

“Hey now, it’s not your fault.” Coach Berkley said. “We should probably get inside and switch out the books. Your class would have started about fifteen minutes ago, so they’ll definitely be looking for you by now.”

Dipper hung his head and clung to his sticky, pixie dust covered journal. Mabel patted him on the back, knowing this would ruin the rest of Dipper’s day. Coach Berkley ushered the kids inside, keeping an eye out for any stray faculty members who might want to ask why they were out of class, and the three snuck back into the library to grab their tattered books.

“Wow, they really did a number on these.” Berkley said, holding a math book whose pages were peeling off of the binding, flakes of pixie dust trailing from the cover. “Let’s just find your books and make the switch.”

“Coach Berkley? Thank you for helping us with this.” Dipper said, quietly, grabbing his books and following Berkley towards the storage room.

"Of course, kids. It's my job."  Berkley unlocked the book storage room and searches through the stacks of books. "Eighth grade? You need...history...science...math..."

“Don’t forget English!” Mabel said, holding two more textbooks. “Everyone always forgets English.”

"English, right." Coach Berkley handed each of the twins their books. "Actually, why don't I carry all of those? Books seem to get heavier each year, and trust me, you don’t want back problems."

“Really? Thanks, Coach.” Dipper said, smiling a bit. “You’re… You’re a lot nicer than I thought you’d be.”

Coach Berkley chuckled and hauled the stack of books out of the library. "Thanks… I think?"

“There he is! Coach Berkley!” One of the frightened librarians from earlier, a small elderly woman named Ms. Margaret, shuffled over to the group. “I wanted to thank you for getting those pesky… lizard things? I think they were some sort of lizard… I wanted to thank you for getting them out of my library. We were so scared when they started carrying the books off!”

“Oh, right! Yes, Ms. Margaret,” Berkley said, scratching the back of his head. “Yes, the _lizards_ , that’s what they were. They’re gone now, thank heavens. Your library is safe.” He said chuckling.

“You should join us in the teacher’s lounge sometime, Berkley. Mrs. Grimwald always brings the best casseroles.” Ms. Margaret said, giggling a bit. “Well, I’m sure I’ll see you later, Coach Berkley.” She said, leaving the group behind her.

Mabel grinned up at Coach Berkley as he escorted the twins to their lockers. "Those little librarians _like_ you."

“Mabel, I’m not sure how old you think I am, but Ms. Margaret is old enough to be my _mother_.” Berkley said, raising an eyebrow. “Anyways, I think it’d be best if you kids didn’t go around telling anybody about supernatural stuff. It happens all the time, but for some reason nobody seems to recognize it when it happens… And when people _do_ figure it out, they stop talking about it. Almost like they forgot it ever happened. I don’t want to scare you kids, but _something’s_ going on in this town, and I don’t want you winding up on the wrong end of it.”

Mabel and Dipper gave each other the same _He doesn't know the half of it_ look, and took their books back from Berkley.

“Yeah, we’ll keep an _eye_ out. But, uh, if you do tell people about the paranormal, you won’t get hurt. Trust us.”  Mabel said as she put her books safely in her locker. "Well...I guess we should get back to our class. Thanks again, Coach."

“Hey, that’s what I’m here for. And don’t forget to show your teachers your hall passes. Remember, you were helping me sort out the office during lunch, when you spilled cleaner on your clothes and had to go clean off, right?” Coach Berkley said, resisting the urge to wink at them, knowing it made Dipper uncomfortable. “And, uh, let me know if you need help again.”

"Will do." Dipper clutched his hall pass and gave Coach Berkeley a small little wave as he and Mabel walked to their class, almost 20 minutes late. Thankfully, their math teacher believed their lie, and made them each promise to come into her classroom after school that Wednesday for tutoring, and the rest of their school day went off without any paranormal events.

After school let out, Mabel found Dipper sitting on a bench outside, waiting for the busses to arrive from the high school so they could go home.

“...So, what do you think?” She asked, taking a stick of gum out of her pocket and chewing it. “...Do you want to come back tomorrow?”

Dipper paused for a moment, staring at his feet. “I don’t know.” He said quietly.

Mabel pulled out another stick of gum and offered it to Dipper. "It was pretty crazy. And I do miss San Francisco. But this is our home now, Dipper. I'm still sad… but we have to keep doing normal stuff. I think Mom and Dad would want us to go to school and try to be happy again..." Mabel looked away as she blew a big bubble.

Dipper silently took the gum and turned it over in his hands, tucking his knees up to his chest. “...Can we decide later?” He whispered. The busses came into view on the road, already half full with students from the high school.

“Sure." Mabel hopped up from the bench and held onto the straps of her backpack. "Alright, Dipdop, let's get home."

The bus ride felt longer going home than it had coming back. Being one of the first kids on the bus that morning meant they’d be some of the last kids off that afternoon. Slowly the crowded bus wound down, its passengers filtering out the sliding doors each time the bus came to a stop, and it was just Dipper, Mabel, and the handful of other students who had been with them at the bus stop that morning.

Dipper and Mabel walked from the bus stop to the Shack on their own. It was a short walk and a straight shot. As they came up on the horizon, Mabel squinted and focused on the porch. "Is that Grunkle Ford with… Mr. McGucket? HE GOT A _MAKEOVER._ " Mabel stopped in her tracks and squealed. " _Dipper, they're holding hands!_ "

“Mabel, calm down, that could mean anything.” Dipper said, though he wasn’t so sure himself. Ford caught sight of the kids and waved, and Fiddleford followed suit.

Mabel beamed from ear to ear as they stepped onto the porch. "Helloooo, Grunkle Ford... _Grunkle_ McGucket" Mabel winked.

“Mabel, what are you implying?” Ford asked, squinting a bit. He loosened his grip on Fiddleford’s hand, but didn’t let go.

"Well, if Mr. McGucket is going to be living with us… getting _closer_ with us, we might as well be on more… casual terms, right? Looking good by the way!" Mabel could have exploded with joy for her Grunkle Ford.

Fiddleford blushed a little and waved his hand. "Aw, shucks, thank you darlin'. I'm feelin' good."

“Mabel, I think it’s time we talked, uncle to niece.” Ford said, standing up from the couch. Ford grabbed Mabel’s hand and led her inside the gift shop.

Mabel frowned and pulled her hand back once they were inside. She thought Ford was happy, that he and McGucket were becoming official, she was excited. "Am I in trouble?"

“No, Mabel, you’re not in trouble.” Ford said, furrowing his brow. “I just need to explain some things to you in the best way that I can. I know you think Fiddleford and I should start dating, and I know you’ve been trying to set us up.” Ford said, kneeling down to Mabel’s level.

Mabel looked down at her feet, feeling a little ashamed. "I thought it would make you guys happy."

“...That’s part of what I need to explain, actually.” Ford said. “You see, you’re not entirely off base. Fiddleford and I _did_ have a relationship in the past. But that was a very long time ago. It was before Fiddleford lost his memory, it was before I’d called Stan here to help hide my journals, and it was before I got sucked into the portal.” Ford stared at Mabel for a moment, trying to figure out if this was getting to be too much for her. “When two people get separated like that, for a very long time, so long that they both meet other people? It takes time to figure out exactly where their relationship stands. So you’ve got to let other people figure that out for themselves, do you understand?”

Mabel nodded and looked back up at Ford, "Yes, Grunkle Ford. I'm sorry... Is it still ok if I call Mr. McGucket my Grunkle? He's almost like family now, he's been so nice to us."

“Of course you can, Mabel. As long as he’s okay with it.” Ford said, giving Mabel a crooked smile. “You know, earlier today, Stan had the same idea about us that you did?”

"He did?" Mabel frowned, remembering Stan’s romantic ‘advice’ to Dipper during their road trip that summer. _I knew it,_ she thought to herself, _I’m no matchmaker_. She continued, "I think I'm a better matchmaker than him. But sometimes even _I'm_ wrong." Ford was taken aback, he’d thought that letting Mabel know that she wasn’t alone in her matchmaking escapades would make her feel better.

“Well… I’ll let you in on a secret. But you can’t tell anybody. Got it?” Ford said.

"I promise!" Mabel bounced excitedly. _Grunkle Ford only tells Dipper his secrets, this must be important!_

“...You ever wonder where I got my old trench coat from? The one I never take off?” Ford said, smiling a bit.

“...Sure. Where?” _Guess it’s not that important_ , Mabel thought.

“Someone I liked a lot gave it to me, a long time ago. For the past thirty years, it was like a little piece of home, the only one I had. You wanna know who that person was?” Ford asked.

Mabel’s eyes widened and she nodded like crazy, almost giving herself whiplash. _It’s not just important, IT'S JUICY!_

“Well, I’ll give you a hint…” Ford said, nudging Mabel’s shoulder. “He lives in the Shack.”

"Is it....Mr. McGucket?!" Mabel said in a loud, excited whisper.

“Not so wrong now, eh?” Ford said, giving Mabel a small smile. “Just give it time, and I promise, if anything ‘becomes official’, you’ll be the _first_ to know.”

Mabel pounced on Ford with a big hug and squeezed with all her might. "Thank you, Grunkle Ford! I'll cheer silently from the sidelines from now on, I promise!"

Dipper poked his head in the door. "Can I come in now...? Mr. McGucket is trying to teach me how to play the banjo."

“Of course, Dipper.” Ford said, standing up. “How was school?”

Mabel took off her backpack and drug it behind her as she exited the gift shop, and entered the house. "It's a _long_ story."

Dipper stood near the door, fumbling with the straps on his own backpack, staring at his feet.

“Dipper, what’s wrong?” Ford asked, sitting on the floor across from his nephew. “Bad day?”

Dipper silently reached into his backpack, pulling out his ruined journal.

"My God, Dipper, is that pixie dust? What happened are you alright? You could have been carted off, why didn’t you call me, I would have been there in an _instant_." Ford said, the words tripping off his tongue faster than he could process them. He reached out and pulled Dipper into a hug.

“M’fine, Great Uncle Ford. They didn’t hurt me, their bites just itch a little.” Dipper mumbled. “They took our books, and we were trapped on the soccer field, and the pixies were trapped in the school… and they ruined the journal you gave me and-- Ford… I… I want to go _home_.” He said, clutching Ford’s trench coat for dear life.

Ford held Dipper close, his chest aching with heartbreak. He knew Dipper wouldn't be ready for school, it was too early, he needed more time to grieve. "I know you do, Dipper. I’m so, so sorry.” Ford said, rubbing small circles into his back. “You don’t have to go back right away if you don’t want to. I’ll talk to Stan, tell him you need more time. In the meantime, let’s get you cleaned up. In my travels I’ve found a pretty good cure for a pixie bite’s itch, and I know a good way to remove pixie dust stains." Ford said, standing up and carrying Dipper into the kitchen, setting him down on the countertop. Ford began rummaging around in the cabinets. “Now let’s see… where did I… Ah, here it is.” Ford said, pulling out a jar labeled _Rowan Preserves._

“How’s _jam_ going to fix the journal?” Dipper asked, raising an eyebrow.

“ _This_ is actually to relieve the itching.” Ford said, gently grabbing Dipper’s arm and smearing the preserves onto his skin. “Just make sure you bathe well tonight, otherwise you’ll get sticky. Feel better?” Ford asked. Dipper nodded, and Ford dug into his pocket, pulling out a small iron nail.

“Alright, Dipper. Hand me the journal.” Ford said. Dipper complied, and Ford held the stained journal out over the sink, running the nail over the book. The pixie dust fell of the book, scales ungluing themselves from between the pages. A few moments later, it was as if the book had never been touched. “Iron is a natural pixie repellant, and it works just as well for their dust. That’s why I always carry this nail around. It’s not a very good weapon, but it’ll keep pixies far, far away.” He placed the nail in Dipper's palm gently. "It’s always good to have a little iron on you. You should keep this. Just be careful with it, don’t hurt yourself."

“Thank you, Great Uncle Ford.” Dipper said, closing his hand around the nail, and stuffing it into his pocket. He hopped down from the counter and grabbed his journal, amazed that it looked good as new. It was a huge relief.

“Anytime, Dipper.” Ford said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “...Do you still want me to talk to Stan about school? I know how tough school can be, and I know it’s hard being in a new place. We can hold off another week.”

“...But I’ll still have to go back.” Dipper said.

“Well that would probably be for the best. I do enjoy giving you and Mabel lessons, but you should also be trying to make friends your own age, and there’s no better place to try than public education.” Ford said.

Dipper frowned and held his journal tighter. "Do I really have to? You're smart enough, Great Uncle Ford. Why should I bother suffering through public school if I might not even have the chances you had?"

“Dipper, I’m going to tell you something.” Ford said, kneeling down to look Dipper in the eyes. “When I was your age, I _hated_ going to school.”

“You did?”

“I did. Everybody was always picking on me, and I can’t tell you how many times I felt like giving up. But I pushed through because I knew I had the talent to do so. You have so much talent, Dipper, you're very intelligent, and you have even more potential than I did at your age.” Ford paused. “There were times I got beat up back then. I didn’t have very many friends, and the teachers never really took me seriously. Eventually, I was so far ahead of everybody that the teachers started hating me altogether, until high school, that is. But if I’d had the choice, I would have stayed in public school in a heartbeat rather than learn at home. I didn’t realize it at first, but going to school, being in contact with what few friends I did have really helped, even if it was just Stan.” Ford paused, taking a deep breath. “After Stanley left home, and I went to Backupsmore, I poured myself into my studies. It was fun, at first. In a lot of ways college is a lot less stressful than middle school and high school. There’s not that constant pressure to fit in at college, you just do the work and try to pass. But for the first semester I barely ate, I almost never slept, and by the time midterms rolled around I was a nervous wreck. I didn’t realize it at the time, and even if I had I wouldn’t have admitted it, but I needed friends, needed Stan, in order to have fun and relax. Thankfully, Fiddleford and I became close friends after that first semester, and things got a little better. I won’t force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, Dipper, but people need friends.”

“Is that why you spend all your free time alone in the basement?” Dipper deadpanned.

“ _That_ is the result of thirty years being forced to interact with species that are far less sociable than ours. Friendship is a necessity that I went without for a very long time, and you’ve seen some of the adverse effects that experience had on me.” _You don’t know the half of what that portal did, thank heavens,_ Ford thought, _but I hope this gets through to you. I don’t want you to end up like me._ “You don’t have to do it right away, but putting yourself out there, making new friends, is extremely important, and I’m _sure_ if your parents were here they'd be telling you the same thing.”

Dipper looked away, deep in thought. He knew Ford was in pain, that something went wrong on the other side of that portal. As much as Dipper looked up to Ford, he didn't want to be _exactly_ like him. Ford was right. If Dipper wanted to be happy again, if he wanted to be what his parents had always wanted him to be, he would need to put himself out into the real world. His parents always gently pushed him to be more social, take an extra-curricular, go to that school dance. His parents had never steered him wrong. “I think… I’d better do my homework now. It’s due tomorrow, and I don’t want to turn it in late.” He said, smiling a bit.

Ford stood back up and smiled down at Dipper. "Let me know if you need any help."

“I will, Great Uncle Ford. Thanks.” Dipper said before running upstairs to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading! If you like it be sure to let us know and you can comment below if you have any questions about the fic! The next chapter is coming soon!  
> (lord-of-vaginas-and-time.tumblr.com and greenllamajeans.tumblr.com)


	11. Why Doesn't Anyone Call Stan With Good News?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9-14 23-8-9-3-8 6-15-18-4 9-19 3-15-14-6-21-19-5-4 2-25 20-8-5 5-24-9-19-20-5-14-3-5 15-6 18-9-14-7-19 15-14 14-5-16-20-21-14-5 25-5-20 8-5 8-1-19 11-14-15-23-14 1-2-15-21-20 20-8-5 5-24-9-19-20-5-14-3-5 15-6 1-12-9-5-14-19 6-15-18 15-22-5-18 20-8-18-5-5 4-5-3-1-4-5-19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a mentioning of lady bits in this chapter. Puberty and the like.

Stan shivered and wrapped his blazer closer around him. It hadn’t quite gotten cold enough for a proper jacket, it was still late September, but the foggy morning air still had a biting chill to it. He’d walked the kids to the bus stop that morning, letting Ford sleep in a little bit, and waved as he watched the tiny red taillights of the bus fade into the mist. Stan looked around, a bit wary of the forest, sighed, and turned to go home.

Ford was already awake when Stan got back. He was standing over the gas lit stove, trying to wrap his head around how to fry eggs again. “...Do chicken eggs still need to be cooked until they’re firm, or can I just eat them like this?” He muttered to himself, scratching his chin.

Stan made sure to make heavy footsteps into the kitchen, not wanting to startle Ford with his sudden presence. "Please don’t tell me you’re trying to cook breakfast, Ford." Stan grabbed the whole carton of eggs from the fridge and looked over Ford’s shoulder to see his handiwork. "What are you trying to make?"

“Oh, good morning, Stan.” Ford said, jumping back a little bit. Not much, but enough for Stan to take notice. “I was just making some eggs. Easy enough, right? It’s still the same stove, I just can’t remember how chicken eggs are supposed to be eaten. I know we always used to cook them, but you’d be surprised how many dimensions have eradicated salmonella and developed a taste for raw eggs.” Ford paused, as if mulling something over in his head. “Do… Do you want one?”

"I'm pretty hungry, but if anyone's making breakfast, it’ll be me. You look lost. I'll show you, step aside." Stan nudged his brother to one side, and lit the gas stove. "How do you want your eggs? Sunny side up, scrambled?"

“Sunny side up is fine, Stan.” Ford said, watching Stan work. “If they ever lift the burn ban, I’ll make something over a fire for you.”

Stan chuckled and cracked two eggs over the sizzling pan. "Burn ban, shmurn-ban. I'd like to see you out-marshmallow-roast me."

“I haven’t roasted marshmallows in a very long time,” Ford smirked. “But have you ever tried roasted basabasa?”

"What the hell is that?" Stan poked the eggs and added some sausage to the pan.

“It’s essentially a fire breathing chicken. Very rare around these parts, but they’re considered an invasive and poisonous species in Dimension 890-E. Made a lot of money getting rid of those things, and had some decent food to boot.”

"Are they spicy?” Stan laughed at his own joke and slapped his knee with the spatula he was using.

“No, they’re actually very bland, especially if you lack any seasoning; a real chicken tastes a lot better. The fire they breathe is a cold, ghostly one, though, and the glands that help produce it are _delicious_ on a hot day.”

Stan was pretty intrigued, his brother didn't share little stories like this often, he almost felt like they were kids again. "Hand me a plate, will you?"

“Sure.” Ford said, reaching into a cabinet and pulling out three plates. “Fiddleford will be up soon, I’ll just make breakfast for him when he comes up.”

"Don't sweat it, the fire's still hot, I'll make him a plate too." Stan plated the eggs and sausage for Ford and got started on cooking up two more eggs.

“I can do it, Stan.” Ford said, giving a light smile. “You cook every day, you should give yourself a break.”

“The pot’s calling the kettle black.” Stan shoved the plate at Ford. "Go sit down and eat for once. Let me handle the food."

“Well… Will you at least join me?” Ford asked.

Stan smiled and hurried to finish what he had in his pan. "Yeah, I'll be there in a sec."

Ford waited patiently for Stan to finish cooking, taking only small bites of the sausage every now and then, and after a while, Stan took a seat across from Ford. Stan sprinkled some salt and pepper across his eggs and started to scarf down his breakfast. It wasn't gourmet, far from it, but knowing he was eating with his brother made the food taste great.

“It’s hard to believe I’ve been back for over a month.” Ford said, using his fork to slice open the yolk. “Even after everything that happened, it’s starting to feel like home again.”

"It feels almost strange to have a full house every day, but I don't hate it. I'm pretty glad you and Fiddleford are around." Stan paused. “And… I’m glad the kids had somewhere to turn after their parents passed. I wish Sherman and Alexandria were still alive, but I’d never forgive myself if those kids got lost in the system.” Stan said, tears welling up in his eyes at the mention of the kid’s parents. "It means a lot that you let me stay in your house. The kids have a home, thanks to us. Thanks to you." He cleared his throat, trying to blink away the tears in his eyes.

“...The house wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you though.” Ford said after a long while. “You’re the one who made sure I had something to come back to. Christ, I don’t know what I would have done if I’d just walked into an empty room, with an empty house above it.”

"Well, me and the kids aren't going anywhere, so don't go thinking about empty houses, alright?" Stan forced a smile and finished his breakfast. "What's on your agenda today, Ford?"

“Well, Fiddleford and I are probably going to work double time in the basement today, we lost too much time yesterday at the mall. It was worth it, but we really should get back to business.” Ford said, grabbing their plates and putting them in the sink to be washed later.

"Business?” Stan said, glancing out the window. “You two are always stuck down there, why don't you take another break? We could watch a movie? They made some new Star Wars ones while you were gone, you really missed out on a lot."

“I appreciate it Stan, but maybe later. I’m sure when Fiddleford wakes up he’ll want to keep working on his memories. You can join us, if you wish--”

“No. Er, no thanks, I’ve spent enough time in your creepy basement.” Stan said, backing away from Ford. “Come on, you deserve a break.”

Fiddleford plodded into the kitchen with a big yawn He had slept in the sweater Mabel had given him, and his overalls last night, not wanting to mess up his new clothing. "Good mornin'." He stretched in the doorway and gave both Stan and Ford a big smile.

“Morning, Fiddleford.” Stan said, raising his head in acknowledgement. “Say, you like those Star Wars movies?”

"Are those the ones with them light swords? I think I've seen one of those before." He shrugged and rooted around in the fridge for some breakfast.

Stan exaggerated his surprise "Whaaaat? You can't remember the Star Wars movies? Ford, we have to fix-- hey!” Stan yelped as Ford grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him into the living room.

“Alright Stan, what’s going on?” Ford asked, furrowing his brow. “Why are you so desperate to keep me out of the basement?” Ford sighed, a bored look on his face. “What did you do? Did you set up a prank somewhere in the house?”

Stan crossed his arms, "Why do you assume I'm trying to trick you? Maybe I genuinely want to indulge you with nerdy crap." Stan spoke defensively.

“Stan, I know for a fact that you can be a more convincing liar than that.” Ford said. “Just tell me where the whoopee cushion or fake fountain pen is so Fiddleford and I can get to work. This is _important_ , Stanley. I don’t have time for your games.” He huffed.

Stan froze, his heart accelerated and he forgot how to breathe. He could feel Filbrick Pines breathing down his neck, the sharp pang of his voice, _you’re not welcome in this household, you ignoramus, you mistake._ Stanley didn't feel himself back away from Ford, he didn't feel his own nails digging into his legs, his whole body tensing. He felt like nothing was real anymore, like he was just watching everything else pass him by. _He’s gonna leave me behind all over again._

“Stanley?” Ford asked, picking up on the symptoms he himself knew by heart. _Something’s not right, he hasn’t been this bad since the synagogue_. Ford slowly wrapped an arm around Stan’s shoulder, guiding him through the living room and to Stan’s own room, away from Fiddleford.

Stan winced at his brother's touch and blindly followed him to the sanctity of his bedroom. He blinked and realized where he was, who was in front of him. Filbrick Pines was dead, and he had been for years. This was Stanford, and he hadn’t left. Stan ran his hands over his face and through his hair, his glasses turning askew as the palm of his hand brushed against the lens. He took a deep, shuddering breath and whispered, "I'm sorry, Ford."

“Are you alright? What… What happened?” Ford had a sinking feeling he already knew the answer, but he sat down next to Stan and waited for him to reply. “Don’t be sorry… Just tell me, Stan.”

"It’s..." Stan chuckled a little, his voice still shaking nervously, "You uh, sounded a lot like Dad."

“I’m sorry.” Ford said, mentally kicking himself. “...He was a real prick.”

"You can't help that you're related to him, it’s gonna happen.”

“Still, I…” Ford trailed off. “It wasn’t too long ago that I was still acting like him…” Ford said, quietly, realization dawning. “...I must sound like him a lot, don’t I?” He added.

“It’s fine. Just, go ahead and get to your stuff in the basement. Don't worry about me. I know how to get through it.” Stan said. “...Just be _careful_ in there…” He added softly.

Ford put an arm around Stan’s shoulder, pulling him close. “...You don’t have to get through it alone, though.”

"This happens sometimes, Ford, I'll be fine.” Stan said, though he didn’t pull away. Ford reached his other arm out, pulling Stan into a bear hug. Stan leaned into his brother and closed his eyes, finally starting to relax again. "Ford, really, I'm okay. Come on, I still have to make the hillbilly some breakfast."

“Stan, I'll do it. What good would you showing me how to cook do if I didn’t practice? But if you want to make sure I don't ruin the kitchen, I'd appreciate it." What Stan needed was validation, Ford had felt the same way a thousand times before. He did have work to do, but the most important thing right now was his brother’s mental health. “...And once breakfast is done, let’s watch a movie. I’m sure Fiddleford wouldn’t mind.”

Stan fixed his glasses and broke away from Ford to stand up. "Yeah... That sounds nice. Thanks, Ford." Stan's old Nokia started buzzing on the nightstand, playing the annoyingly classic Nokia ringtone. Stan huffed and picked his phone up, squinting at the screen before answering. It was an unknown number, likely a solicitor. "Yeah, hello?"

A sniffly voice came from the other line. "Grunkle S-Stan? I need you to p-pick me up." Stan blanched.

Ford stood up once Stan answered the phone. “Who is it? What’s happening?”

"Mabel, sweetie, what's wrong? I'm on my way _right now._ " Stan said, running out of his room and towards the front door, Ford on his heels, a million different scenarios of what could be happening running through his head, many of them a repeat of what had happened the night of the Bar Mitzvah.

Mabel was silent on the other end of the phone, her voice hesitant, "I… um... I'm sick. I need to go home."

"Don't worry, Mabel, I'm on my way. Just sit tight, okay? I'll be there in ten minutes." Stan said. Ford ducked into the kitchen to tell Fiddleford where they were going, once Stan found his keys, they were off, careening towards the school as fast as the Stanley Mobile could carry them.

The school was thirty minutes away, if you obeyed traffic laws. But this was Stanley Pines on his way to rescue his niece, it only took him 7 minutes, flat. He stayed on the line the whole time, listening to Mabel to make sure she was OK. She didn't sound sick, but she could have picked up _anything_ from public school. "Okay, Mabel, we're here, I'll see you inside. I love you." He hung up when he took up a handicapped parking space and ran up to the school's entrance, Ford following behind him. Ford nearly kicked the door down, before Stan reminded him that as visitors they had to buzz in outside before the door would unlock.

Once they found their way to the nurse’s office, the found Dipper pacing outside of the Nurse's office, picking at his bright green cast. "Grunkle Stan! Great Uncle Ford! Mabel asked me to walk her to the nurse's office but she wouldn't tell me what's wrong, is she going to be okay?"

“She told us over the phone she was sick, sport.” Stan said.

“We’ll have to pull her out of classes, will you be alright riding home on the bus by yourself?” Ford asked.

"Yeah... Yeah, I think I'll be okay... Just tell me if Mabel is gonna be okay." Dipper sat down in a chair outside of the office.

"We will, Dipper." Stan knocked on the door and poked his head in. Mabel was standing near the wall, with her hands tucked behind her back, her sweater tied around her waist.

“Oh, good, you must be her uncles.” The school nurse, a short woman named Mrs. Huckabee, said. “Did she tell you to bring her a change of clothes?” Mabel’s face flushed red.

“What exactly is going on here?” Stan asked. “Mabel, pumpkin, are you alright?”

Mabel shook her head and started to tear up, fumbling with the sleeves of her sweater.

The nurse sighed and handed Ford a clipboard to sign Mabel out of school. "Mabel _started_ for her first time."

"Started what?" Ford asked. “I haven’t been in this di-- _country_ for a while, I’m not up to date on slang terms.”

A lightbulb popped over Stan's head and even he flushed a little. "Oh. _OH._ I'm sorry I didn't bring you some clothes, Mabel."

Ford knew that flush. He’d seen it a thousand times in his youth. Stan might have been a walking encyclopedia of cheesy pickup lines and false confidence, but when it came to health class, Stan had always been very modest, and whenever their mother had needed Stan to fetch her anything ‘feminine’ it had been a nightmare. Ford slowly knelt down to Mabel’s level, took off his trench coat, and wrapped it around her shoulders.

Mabel started to _bawl_. She knew what Ford's coat meant to him, and she was embarrassed enough as it was.

“Mabel, it’s okay,” Ford whispered. “Did you see this thing when I stepped out of the portal? It was literally black with filth, a little blood isn’t going to hurt it.”

Stan grabbed Mabel's backpack for her and pulled the nurse aside. "Listen, I just got custody of Mabel and her brother, I've never raised any kids of my own. What exactly do I need to buy for this sort of thing?"

“Well, I’d start her out on pads. Kotex makes a line specifically for young girls, I’d make a stop at the drugstore before you take her home. If she's having cramps you can give her a couple of ibuprofen and she'll be alright. The first time is always a little traumatic, especially since she wasn’t expecting it, but she'll be okay." Mrs. Huckabee said.

Stan sighed and hiked Mabel's backpack over his shoulder. "Thanks. Would you write a pass for her brother? He's been standing outside this whole time worried sick."

“Of… Of course, I’ll get right on that.” She said, reaching into her desk to fill out a hall pass.

"Come on, Mabel, let's get you home." Ford said, scooping Mabel into his arms and carrying her, making sure the coat didn’t fall off her shoulders. Mabel clung to Ford, gripping his sweater. Stan got the door for his brother and held it open so he could carry Mabel down the hallway. Dipper jumped up when he saw them.

“Mabel! Are you alright? What’s wrong?” Dipper asked, rubbing at the cast on his arm.

Mabel poked her head out from Ford's shoulder and faked a smile, tears still streaming down her cheeks. "I'm okay! I'll see you at home, DipDop. Tell everyone I'm okay." Her voice was shaky and she had snot in her nose. Mrs. Huckabee followed them out, and handed Dipper his hall pass. Dipper took it, but the worry didn't fall from his face. He waved as Mabel and the Grunkles disappeared down the hallway.

Stan opened the car door for Ford once they got to the car so he could lay Mabel down in the back seat. Mabel curled up and put her seat belt on. Ford slid in the back seat with Mabel and put his seatbelt on as well, following Mabel's example. Stan hopped in the front seat and made an effort to go slow as they drove off, not wanting Mabel to get hurt in her state.

"We're going to make a little stop so I can get some... supplies for you. I'll be fast and come right back so we can get home."  Stan said as they pulled up to their local drugstore. "I'll be in and out, I promise." He hopped out of the car and swallowed his pride as he strolled inside and down the 'feminine hygiene' aisle. Every single box was pink or purple, priced over seven bucks, and seemed to be in a foreign language. "What the hell are wings?" Stan asked aloud, making another woman leave the aisle. Stan searched for a Kotex box, but he didn’t find any that seemed to be marketed towards young girls like Mrs. Huckabee had told him. Stan sighed and grabbed a couple of boxes at random, making sure to go for the pinkest boxes with the most flowers, knowing Mabel would at least like the packaging. "Hopefully these work." He whispered to himself as he brought them to the check out.

In the car, Mabel had unbuckled her seat belt, and was curled up next to Ford.

“...Grunkle Ford, thank you.” Mabel said, fiddling with the sleeves of Ford’s trench coat. “I’m so embarrassed. It happened right before _gym class_ , everyone in the girl’s locker room saw the stain on my skirt and started laughing. I had to get Dipper and Coach Berkley to walk me to the nurse’s office.”

"Oh, Mabel, I'm sorry. You don't deserve that. It’s a completely natural occurrence, that’s vital to both your health and our continued survival as a species.”

“...Really?”

“Doesn’t that middle school have a health class?” Ford asked. Granted, middle school education in the 1960s likely hadn’t improved much over the years, but it was still a health class.

“We do, but they just show pictures of sick people and tell us about babies. I mean, I like babies, but I have questions and-- and mom isn’t--” Mabel shook with sobs.

“I’m sorry, Mabel,” Ford said, wrapping an arm around her. “I miss her, too… But if you still have questions, I can answer them.”

“Grunkle Ford, y-you can’t re-remember h-how to work the _VCR_.” Mabel cried, hiding her face in her sleeve. What Mabel needed in that moment was her mother, and the pain in her body amplified the pain in her heart.

“True, after thirty years of experiencing vastly different technologies I have gotten a little rusty, but though they were rare, I did encounter a few different versions of Earth. The basic biological systems _should_ be the same. With your Grunkle Stan's help, I'm positive we both can answer your questions, Mabel."

Just then, Stan unlocked the door and hopped back in the car, and handed Mabel the bag of products he just bought. Along with the mix of tampons and pads, he included a couple of candy bars he knew Mabel liked. "Is this going to be okay, Mabel?"

“I think so…” Mabel said, taking a candy bar out of the bag and slowly unwrapping it.

Stan started the car up and looked at Mabel from his rear view mirror. "Let's get home." He backed out of his parking spot, cringing as he nearly missed another vehicle, stifling a string of curse words.

Fiddleford was there to greet them when they got home, stirring a pot of chicken broth on the stove.

“Well, howdy, Mabel. Stanford told me you was feelin’ under the weather, so I whipped up some soup fer ya.” He said, scratching his newly trimmed beard. He was a little shocked to see Mabel wrapped up in Stanford's coat, it must have been worse than he thought. "I'll make you a bowl and bring it up to ya, you go get yourself some rest."

Mabel flushed bright red, nodded, and scurried up the stairs to go change, handing Ford’s coat back to him. Ford wrapped the coat in a bundle and went to the kitchen sink to wash it by hand.

Upstairs, Mabel grabbed a change of clothes and locked herself in the bathroom, throwing her old ones in her hamper, trying to ignore the tiny stain on her skirt. She read over the instructions included in the box of pads Stan had picked out over and over, before finally attempting to put one on. It seemed really big, almost too big, but she managed to stick the pad to her underwear. She hated the feeling. _It’s like some kind of... diaper. This happens every month? Oh god, I hate this. Mom would know what to do._ Mabel washed her hands thoroughly and splashed some water in her face. She looked in the mirror for a while. Getting your period is the official stamp of being a woman, but Mabel didn't feel like a woman. She felt like a scared little girl. She looked like a little girl.

Mabel began to cry again and spotted some scissors sitting on the bathroom counter next to her hair brush. She reached for the cold handle of the scissors and brought the blades close to a lock of her long curly hair. She squeezed her eyes shut and _snip_ , a curl fell to the floor. Mabel felt a rush, of what she wasn't sure, but she couldn't stop chopping away her brown locks until they came up to the nape of her neck, _just like mom’s…_ She opened her eyes, expecting a beautiful cut for a beautiful young woman.

Instead she saw a frightened little girl with a jagged hairline that looked more like a rat’s nest than hair.

She dropped the scissors and screamed. What had she done? She can't go to school tomorrow like this. She can't even come out of the bathroom like this! Her heart nearly stopped beating when she heard footsteps running up the stairs. She might not have to.

Ford kicked down the bathroom door.

“Mabel! What’s wrong, are you hurt, is something attacking?!” He yelled, grabbing his pistol and shoving Mabel behind him.

Mabel screamed back, "No, Grunkle Ford, stop! Just leave me alone!"

Ford eyed the scissors and the locks of hair on the floor, and put the pistol away. He knelt down to Mabel’s level. “Mabel, it’s okay, we can fix this. It’s just hair, you’ll be fine.”

Mabel sank to her knees and grabbed fistfuls of her hair. "I'm so stupid. I thought-- I thought I'd look like mom."

“Oh, Mabel.” Ford said, tears welling up in his eyes. “You’re not stupid. You already look like your mother. It’s just a bad haircut, we’ll fix it, good as new.”

Stan rushed up the stairs to check on the commotion and gasped. "Woah… Mabel, sweetie..." He pulled his phone out and started dialing. "I'm calling Wendy." Wendy was, sadly, the only woman Stan knew who he could trust, and he knew that she loved Dipper and Mabel. Wendy _had_ to know what to do.

“Mr. Pines, I’m at school, I can’t come in to work right now.” Wendy said, picking up the phone after two rings.

“Wendy, we both know you’re playing hooky. I need your help. It’s… It’s Mabel. It’s a _woman thing,_ she needs help,and Ford and I are totally lost." Stan said.

“I’ll be right over.” Wendy said. “Thompson, drive us to the Mystery Shack!” Her voice sounded farther away, and then the other end of the line went dead.

Mabel fell against Ford's chest and kept crying, she was completely exhausted, and just wanted to hide. Ford wrapped his arms around her, rubbing circles into her back.

“It’ll be okay, Mabel. We’ll get through this.” Ford said softly.

Wendy arrived about ten minutes after she got the call, bringing a grocery bag stuffed with various items for Mabel. She let herself inside with her emergency key and called out, "Yo, Mr. Pines! Where's everybody at?" She climbed the stairs and found Stan and Ford outside of Mabel's bedroom. Stan stood off to the side, arms crossed and worry evident on his face. Ford was pacing, wringing his hands. "Geez, you guys really do look lost. Is it really that bad?"

"Yes. It’s that bad." Ford huffed. "She's in there laying down."

Wendy knocked on Mabel's door and spoke through the crack, "Hey Mabel, can I come in? I brought you some stuff." Mabel's voice was faint, but it was enough to hear a yes.

Wendy slides in the room, where Mabel had the covers over her head. "Aw, man. Are you cramping? My cramps hurt like hell when I was your age." She sat down on the edge of Mabel's bed and fished out a little box of Midol and a Gatorade from her grocery bag and placed them on Mabel's nightstand. "This stuff helps when you get cramps and you feel all bloaty… Mabes, are you okay?"

Mabel responded with a quick, "No," from under the covers.

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong?” Wendy asked, leaning back against the headboard.

"No." Mabel pulled the covers tighter.

"You can tell me, dude, I've been through a lot of the same stuff you have." Wendy patted the lump of blankets that she guessed were Mabel's head.

Mabel groaned and slowly pulled the covers back, revealing her choppy new hairdo.

"Oh. Man. Did you try that yourself?" Wendy ran her hand through Mabel's hair gently. "Wow. I've seen worse, Mabel. Heck, I've _done_ worse. You should see what I did to Thompson two years back... This is totally an easy fix. I do Tambry's hair all the time, I can clean this up and you'll look absolutely cute. Do you trust me?" Wendy tousled Mabel's hair and sat back. “Is that what had your uncles all worried? I don’t think they know a lot about this kinda thing, but Ford _does_ have a PhD, so I figured maybe…” Wendy sighed. “Why’d you cut your hair, kiddo?”

Mabel sits up and held one of her stuffed animals close. "I'm supposed to be a woman now, right? I had my bat mitzvah last year, and now my period, and I'm supposed to be a lady, and I’m only a year away from high school. But I don't feel like a woman. I thought… if I cut my hair to look like my mom… I'd look like she did. "

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, _dude_. First of all, I’m pretty sure you look like your mom already. I’ve never met her, but Stan showed me a picture, and I’d say you look like her.” Wendy said. “ _Second_ , just because you had your bat mitzvah, and you have your period, _doesn’t_ mean you’re a woman. It doesn’t just _happen_ , like a werewolf transformation or something. It just means you’re _starting_ to become a woman. You’re thirteen, you’re still a little kid, you've got so many prime kid years ahead of you. People are going to try and tell you _oh, you’re a woman now, you should act like this or that_ , but until you turn eighteen? You’re still a kid. No matter what happens.”

Mabel sniffled and wiped her eyes. She leaned against Wendy and wrapped her in a tiny hug. "You promise? I don't want to grow up yet."

“I promise.” Wendy said, returning the hug. “Let’s go let your uncles know you’re feeling better, huh? Then I'll fix your hair, and you and me can pig out on some chocolate."

Mabel scooted out of her covers and climbed out of bed. "Yeah… yeah, okay." She opened her door, with Wendy right behind her. Ford and Stan stood at attention, afraid to say anything to upset Mabel again.

“...Mabel?” Stan asked softly. “You feelin’ a little better, sweetie?”

Mabel nodded softly. “Mmhmm. I… I still have questions, though.”

“Alright, Mabel. Shoot.” Ford said.

“What… exactly _is_ a period?”

“Well, we’ll start with the basics.” Ford said. “You see, inside your body, just below your stomach and intestines, is an organ known as the uterus. This is the organ in which the fetus develops before birth. The interior chamber of the uterus houses thousands of tiny eggs, which the male later fertilizes. Once fertilization is complete, the eggs, now called embryos, will attach themselves to the uterine wall, where they will grow until one, or in your and my cases, _two_ , embryos grow into a fetus. Now, since the eggs inside your uterus have not been fertilized, your uterus is simply flushing out the unused eggs to make room for more, to prevent overcrowding. This is perfectly normal, and incredibly important in maintaining proper genetic diversity within the population. Am I going too fast?”

“Dr. Pines I’m going to be completely honest with you here,” Wendy said. “That is absolutely _not_ how humans work. Christ, we’re not in dimension fifty-whatever. Mabel, I'll give it to you simple. Your body is getting ready for its baby making future. Every month, a _single_ egg moves from the _ovaries_ , through the fallopian tubes, into the uterus, and then the uterus goes hog wild trying to fatten itself up to support a potential baby. And every month, it gets rid of a potential baby that you aren't using, and the excess lining, and it's so tiny, you just bleed it out. Which sucks, cause it’s like your whole body is turning against you. So you keep doing that until you decide you want a baby."

"But I'm too young to have a baby." Mabel said.

“Exactly.” Stan said. “So don’t go fiddling around havin’ sex with boys, and you won’t. And if some snot nosed brat tries to push you around, kick ‘em in the teeth.”

"Wait. So you have to have sex with a boy to have a baby, right? Why would I go and do that?" Mabel asked, still a little confused.

“Frankly, Mabel, I’m not sure.” Ford said. “The concept of sex is vastly overrated, in my opinion, and childbirth isn’t that much better. Apparently ‘when the time is right’ your hormones will fluctuate and just kind of… _make_ you want to procreate and have children? But I’ve never observed this kind of behavior in neither myself nor several other colleagues from various other human-populated dimensions.”

Mabel put her hands on her hips. "So you're like... Asexual?"

“Wait, what?” Ford asked, raising an eyebrow.

Wendy sighed and rubbed her face. "This is a train wreck. Mabel, let's go sit down and all talk about this in the kitchen or something. Go get your computer, Mabel, we're giving your uncles a lesson." Mabel shrugged and went to go grab her laptop from her room.

Wendy grabbed both Ford and Stan by their hands and dragged them downstairs. "You two really are lost."

The family and Wendy had been sitting at the table for a few hours, huddled around Mabel's laptop, by the time Dipper came home from school. "Mabel, what happened to your hair? What's going on?"

“Oh, I, uh… I tried to cut it myself. Wendy’s going to help me fix it.” Mabel said.

"Wow...okay. Are you feeling better now?" Dipper sat at the table and looked over Wendy's shoulder at the laptop and balked. “What is that?”

“That would be a diagram of the uterus, Dipper.” Wendy said.

"Ew why would you… wait… oh gross!"

Mabel threw one of her bracelets at Dipper's head. "Deal with it, Dip Dop, it’s happening! _The talk."_

Dipper tried to hide in his hat. "Do we _have_ to?"

“Well, technically I was going to give you the talk over the summer, but Ford’s body swapping carpet got in the way of that.” Stan said, waving his hand. “Look, kid, you should probably learn this stuff now. I don’t want you two getting in over your head one day and not knowing what to do.”

Wendy pulled up a picture of a crying baby to mess with Dipper. "Or THIS will happen!"

Dipper sighed and took a big breath. "Alright. Fine."

Mabel pulled up the tab on sexual orientation she had open and turned it to Dipper. "But first, _romance_! Apparently, Grunkle Ford is biromantic asexual, Grunkle Stan is bisexual, and… Wendy what did you decide on?"

Wendy shrugged "I dunno."

"And Wendy is undecided." Mabel declared, making both of the Grunkles go red.

“Okay, Mabel, next lesson: the importance of _not_ going around announcing other people’s orientations to everyone unless they say it’s _okay_.” Ford said, covering his face.

"Sorry..." Mabel frowned and leaned her cheek on her hand. "I'm just happy for you is all."

“I know, but sometimes things like that can be _really_ dangerous, sweetheart.” Ford said. “So you have to check with them before you start telling other people.”

"I understand." Mabel looked down at the table. “It’s just the first thing about this whole puberty thing that doesn’t involve a lot of pain and blood and stuff…”

"So, Dipper, got any questions?" Wendy asked.

Dipper blushed a little. "U-um...well... I'm not sure....how old are you supposed to be to… have sex?"

Stan deadpanned, "Thirty-six."

"Stan, NO." Wendy glared at Stanley. "You shouldn't do it if you don't feel you're ready. It’s totally different for everybody. Don't let anyone tell you you have to do it by a certain time, because those people are assholes. Don't let _anybody_ make you feel like you have to. If you get tricked into doing something you don't want to do... Just tell somebody. That goes for you _and_ Mabel." Wendy looked serious as the grave as she spoke.

“Anyone messes with you two, call me or Ford.” Stan said, somehow looking more serious than Wendy. “We’d both kill to keep you two safe.”

"What if... what if someday I got pregnant, but I didn't want to be?" Mabel asked with a small voice.

“Mabel, there are thousands of different medical procedures to abort an unwanted pregnancy.” Ford said. “They’re all safe when done properly, and the fetus isn’t really capable of surviving outside the womb until well past the cutoff date for those procedures, so you wouldn’t have to worry about feeling guilty or anything.”

"... You wouldn't be mad?"

“Of course not, Mabel, it’s ultimately your decision. In my time I’ve known several women who had to abort their pregnancies, they were all fine, strong women, who didn’t take their decision lightly. I wouldn’t be mad in the slightest if one day you joined their ranks.” Ford paused. “Though, most of them were actual warriors from other dimensions, so I’d prefer if you didn’t _literally_ join their ranks.”

Mabel managed to laugh a little bit, she looked pretty relieved. "I feel a lot better now. Thank you guys."

“Anytime, kiddo. We’re always going to be here for you, even if we’re totally off base and have to call Wendy.” Stan said, ruffling Mabel’s hair.

Mabel looked to Wendy, "Can we fix my hair now?"

"Sure thing, dude. Go find a barstool or something tall to sit on and a towel. And bring me the scissors you used. Oh, and find a picture of the cut you want!”

Mabel hopped up from her seat and ran back up the stairs. When she left, Wendy emptied her grocery bag on the table, much to the men's horror. "Alright, crash course in period stuff, boys." She picked up a tampon and a pad in each hand. " _This_ is a tampon. _This_ a pad. They are different, and there a zillion types of each. These are the ones I like, but you should let Mabel choose her own. She’s young so she’s probably going to want thinner pads. Don't be scared of them, they are plastic and cotton and totally not scary. Woman up."

Dipper picked up one of the tampons and threw it at Grunkle Stan, making him jump, which made Dipper snort.

“So… where do you get the belts? For the pads?” Ford asked.

"Belts? Dude, they stick." Wendy opened one up and tore off the paper, and stuck it on Dipper’s hat. "See? I think the last time they had to use belts was in what, the sixties? Fifties? Who cares, man.”

Dipper peeled the pad off and laughed, sticking it on the table. "This is super weird."

Mabel came back down with the scissors, dragging a stool down with her, and gaped at the sea of lady products on the kitchen table. "What the dink are you guys even doing!?"

Wendy took the scissors from Mabel and set them on the table. Mabel pulled up a picture on her cellphone of her mom and showed it to Wendy. "This is what I want."

Wendy took the phone and studied the picture. "This is your mom, right? I'm telling you Mabel, you're her spitting image."

“...Really?” Mabel asked.

“Yeah, man.” Wendy said. “Now get your butt in a chair, I’m gonna work my _magic_.” She said with a wink, and set about to cutting Mabel’s hair.

“What do you want for dinner tonight, Mabel?” Stan asked, moving to the pantry to see what they had. “We’ve got spaghetti, but we don’t have anything for meatballs unless you want canned meat, we’ve got uh… Well Fiddleford already made the soup for lunch...”

“Can we have spaghetti?” Mabel asked.

“Sure, kiddo.” Stan said. “Dipper, if you’ve got homework, you’d better start working on it.” Stan said, noticing that Dipper was trying to sneak away and leave his backpack downstairs.

“...Alright.” Dipper sighed, and plopped down at the kitchen table.

“Hey, Fiddlenerd! We’re done talkin’ about puberty. If you’ve got plates I’ve got a sink to wash ‘em in!” Stan called, grabbing a pot from a cupboard and filling it with water. Fiddleford poked his head into the kitchen from the living room, eager to put away his now empty bowl of soup. He couldn’t let go to waste now that he knew Mabel wasn’t sick _per se_.

Fiddleford raised his brow at the state of the kitchen, more than a little confused at the sudden appearance of a hair salon, and sauntered over to Ford, who still had a laptop set up at the table. "What ya got there, Stanford?" He said, setting his empty bowl on the table.

"This is Mabel's computer, she's allowed me to borrow it." Ford said, typing on the keyboard at a snail’s pace. “Oh, look. They’ve put together a global seed bank in case the apocalypse happens. That might come in handy.” He remarked.

Fiddleford slid into the chair next to Stanford to watch him use the computer. "Wow... I sure would love to take that apart, but I don't think Mabel would be too keen on it.”

“I’m interested in how these work as well, though you are right. We might have to just buy one.” Ford said, typing in ‘astronomy discoveries since 1980s’ into the search bar. “Also Neptune has rings? Apparently?”

Dipper looked up from his homework, "I have one of my older laptops you and Great Uncle Ford can use if you want."

"Oh, you don't have to go an' do that for me." McGucket said with a wave of his hand.

“No, really, it’s fine. I never use it, and it’s just taking up space right now.” Dipper said.

"That's very generous of you, Dipper, Thank You."  Ford gave Dipper a crooked smile.

Dipper hopped up from his seat. "I'll go get it for you, one sec." He rushed up the stairs to root around for his old laptop, made circa 2009.

“...I can’t believe how much I missed.” Ford said quietly, once Dipper was gone. “Heck, contact lenses are disposable now.”

"The times change so quickly, even I miss a lot of things around here. We can learn about these things together." Fiddleford said, patting Ford’s shoulder, relieved when Ford didn’t shrink away at the touch.

“Thank you, Fidds.” Ford said, smiling a bit. “Oh, good. This dimension figured out DNA sequencing.” Ford remarked, earning a cackle from Fiddleford.

Dipper returned with the laptop in his arms, the charger bundled and resting on top. Dipper set it down in front of Fiddleford. "It still has some of my programs and files on it, but I can do a factory reset so it's just like new."

“Oh, I can take care of a lil’ reset, I’m not that behind the times.” Fiddleford said. “I do appreciate it, Dipper.”

"Oh. Well, alright then… if you have any questions, let me know." Dipper sat back down at his spot, getting back to his homework.

Fiddleford turned the computer on and waited for it to start up. It wasn't as quick as it should be, but quicker than anything he had built in his own.

"So how... exactly do these things work?" Ford asked, once the computer had finished booting up. "I know you used to build these, but it was so long ago that I actually encountered one."

"Aw, there's not much to it. I reckon the only thing that's changed much is that they moved on to optical storage, so yer computermajig won't get ruined every time you walk past a magnet." Fiddleford cackled. "Here, I'll show ya." Fiddleford powered the machine down and turned it upside down to pry open the bottom of the computer, revealing the circuitry underneath. He let out a low whistle, like someone might give to a pretty woman. "Lookie here! Right down there's yer microprocessor, that's the part that actually does most of the computing, and there's yer RAM, which stores yer information. From there, you can basically make programs and run 'em on the computer. It used to be real limited back in our day, but nowadays you can do whatever you want." Fiddleford explained.

"Oh, so these alter reality now?" Ford said, backing away slowly.

"...Great Uncle Ford that's not quite what he meant." Dipper said, noting the confusion on McGucket's face. "I think he meant with more processing power, there are less limits on the kinds programs you can use. Better graphics and stuff like that."

"Oh, oh that's a relief." Ford said.

McGucket squinted at the circuits, trying to get a clear and up close look at everything. Bunches of ideas ran through his head, he could take apart his old computermajig and fix this one up to be even quicker than it already is.

Ford smiled a bit, taking note of the familiar gleam in Fiddleford's eye whenever he got an idea, a gleam he hadn’t seen in years. "What are you thinking, Fidds?" He asked.

"I'm going to take some old parts from our old laptop and make us a custom computermajig!" Fiddleford said with a level of excitement not even comparable to his shopping trip the previous day.

“There’s some tools in the basement, I’ll go grab them.” Ford said, standing up. “...And I’d… I’d be honored if you’d let me help you.” He said, the pang of knowing he’d stopped Fiddleford from entering a billion dollar industry still fresh.

"I would love some help. Thank you, Stanford." Fiddleford smiled up sweetly at Ford, a look Ford hadn't seen in a while.

“Okay, nerds, go make your laptop, just _not at the kitchen table._ ” Stan said, from over the stove. “I’ve got dinner to make and I don’t think computer parts are part of the ingredients.”

Fiddleford stood up with the computer in his arms "I guess we'll relocate."

“Alright, I’ll go grab some tools from the basement.” Ford said, standing up and making his way through the living room to the vending machine.

“Great, I’ll go with ya!” Fiddleford said, following Ford.

“Oh, you really don’t have to, the tools are on the third floor, it’s…” Ford trailed off, unsure of what to say. “It’s got mice.” He added haphazardly as they walked down the stairs towards the elevator.

“Aw, hush, I ain’t afraid of a little ol’ mouse.” Fiddleford said, hopping into the elevator and pressing the third floor button. “Besides, it can’t be much creepier than yer study. I always feel like somethin’s watchin' me in there.” Ford froze, having to look away, knowing _exactly_ why Fiddleford had that feeling, and knowing what could happen to Fiddleford if he ever remembered the truth. The elevator reached the third floor with a _ding_ , and Fiddleford stepped out as nonchalantly as ever. Ford, on the other hand, felt nauseous remembering the last time they’d been this far down the basement. Images of himself, cradling Fiddleford’s prone body, listening to the bright and brilliant Fiddleford reduced to mumbling gibberish and eldritch tongues, flashed through his mind.

Fiddleford paused as he looked around the basement, a familiar feeling rising in his gut. "Stanford, I've been here. I... I remember this place." Fiddleford found a place to set his laptop down and ran his fingertips over dusty old equipment.

Ford felt his heart drop. This was it. Fiddleford was going to leave, he was going to do something awful to himself, just like last time. “...You do?” Ford asked quietly.

"This is where we worked together. We were buildin' that portal, I remember bein' down here so long we forgot what time of day it was!" He chuckled a little, "You used to fall asleep while we we're workin', and I'd have to tuck you in." All of the memories washing over Fiddleford were fond ones, making important discoveries and working, and accomplishing goals.

“...That’s great, Fidds.” Ford said, managing a small smile. _It might be because of the dismantled portal_ , he thought to himself. _That’s why he’s only remembering the early days… I hope..._ “Let’s just grab what we need and go…”

"Alright, sounds like a plan." Fiddleford smiled and picked up his new computer. "Do you have my old laptop down here too?"

“No, I think that’s in our room.” Ford said, reaching underneath a control panel to grab a rusted toolbox. “Think this’ll be all we need?” He asked, opening the box to reveal the plethora of tools inside, not all of them native to this dimension.

"That there is perfect!" Fiddleford inspected some of the strange foreign tools, excited to see how they work.

“Great.” Ford said, turning to walk out of the room. “Let’s… Let’s go.”

Fiddleford followed out happily. This place was far less eerie than he’d imagined, and gave Fiddleford the confidence that he was still the great scientist he once was. What’s more, it gave him an extra bit of his memories back, a little extra piece of Stanford to hold onto until he was ready to hash things out between them.

Back in the kitchen, Wendy had made the last snip on Mabel's hair, and handed Mabel her phone with the front camera on. "Alright, dude, what do you think?"

Mabel gasped, she looked completely different. Her hair was cropped close to her face, her bangs curled up against her forehead, she looked like her mother, but she still looked like Mabel. “I… I _love_ it!” She said, ripping the towel off her shoulders and hugging Wendy.

Wendy set the scissors down and wrapped her arms around Mabel tight. "Good! I told you I could fix it. Everyone is going to love your new haircut, I know it."

“You look great, Mabel.” Stan said, putting an arm around her shoulder. “You feelin’ better, kiddo?”

Mabel nodded and latched onto Stan. "Yeah, I am. Thank you, Grunkle Stan, you're the best." She nuzzled her head into Stan's side and squeezed him as tight as she could.

“Thanks, sweetie.” Stan said, a big smile on his face. He hugged Mabel back as tight as he could without hurting her. “Dinner’s almost ready, why don’t you and Dipper go see if Ford and McGucket are coming to eat?”

“Okay! Come on, Dipper.” Mabel said, grabbing Dipper’s good arm and pulling him out of his chair. “Hey, feel the back of my neck it’s so smooth!” Her voice trailed off as she and Dipper went to find their scientist uncles.

Stan set to straining the pasta and setting up plates for the six of them. “Wendy? I, uh, I wanted to thank you for doing all that today.” He said.

Wendy got to sweeping up Mabel's hair from the kitchen floor. "Yeah, no problem, Mr. Pines. I'd do anything for Dipper and Mabel, you know that. Sometimes a little girl just needs another girl for stuff like this."

Stan put a hand on Wendy’s shoulder. “I know… And, hey, thanks for teachin’ me and Ford, too. If anything ever happened… to _either_ of them, and we didn’t know what to do? I’d never live with myself.”

Wendy sighed and patted Stan's hand. "Don't sweat it. You would have figured it out eventually I'm sure... Who am I kidding, you're a wreck without me.”

“Yeah, I know.” Stan said, chuckling. “And, hey, I know I let you off the hook for skipping school today, but you really need to stay in school.” He added. “I might just be an old high school dropout, but lemme tell ya, when they say getting jobs are easier when you’ve graduated with a diploma, they aren’t kidding around.”

Wendy leaned on her broom and looked down at the pile of hair on the floor. "Yeah, I know. But, sometimes it’s like, I'm not a genius, why should I even try? I pass and I fly under the radar, and that’s enough for me. High school _sucks_.”

“...Believe me, Wendy. I know _exactly_ how you feel…” Stan said, retracting his arm. “But barely passing and flying under the radar didn’t exactly work out for me, and I don’t want to see it fail you, too.” Stan took a deep breath, reminding himself that Manly Dan was a good man, that he’d never kick Wendy out on the streets, that she’d never drop out of school because of crippling homelessness. “Look, I’ve covered for you long enough, if I catch you playing hooky again, I’m calling your dad.”

"Stan! That's totally unfair!"

“Wendy, if I was a law abiding man, I’d have called your dad the first time it happened or reported you for truancy. I appreciate you doing this today, I really do, but this is your future we’re talking about. Look, if you really were the idiot you think you are, then I’d’ve never hired you. Please, just promise me you’ll stay in school.” He said, handing her a plate of spaghetti, and moving to set the others on the table.

Wendy huffed and looked at the spaghetti in her hands. Stan really did care about her, and he couldn't put up with her bullshit forever. "Yeah, Stan... I promise." She sat at the table with her plate and leaned back in her chair. Dipper and Mabel soon came back, dragging McGucket and Ford by their hands, and the family sat down to eat dinner.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The new chapter will be up soon. If you like it be sure to let us know and you can comment below if you have any questions about the fic!   
> (lord-of-vaginas-and-time.tumblr.com and greenllamajeans.tumblr.com)


	12. A Vow of Necromancy (Or: The Second Stage of Grief)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9-20-19 20-9-13-5,  
> 9 8-1-22-5-14'20 18-5-22-5-1-12-5-4 20-8-9-19 20-15 1-14-25-15-14-5 9-14 13-25 12-9-6-5,  
> 13-25 13-15-19-20 19-5-3-18-5-20 1-14-4 16-18-9-26-5-4 16-15-19-19-5-19-19-9-15-14,  
> 13-25 18-15-3-11 3-15-12-12-5-3-20-9-15-14

Blendin closed his eyes and held his breath as the time tape measurer snapped closed, and he disappeared in a bright flash.

When he opened his eyes, he was standing in San Francisco, near a ramp onto the central freeway, September 7, 2012.

He double checked his watch. He had two minutes until the Pines’ family car drove up the ramp and collided head on with a sedan going in the wrong direction. He set his camouflage suit to mimic a twenty-first century crossing guard, and ran out into the middle of the road, keeping any traffic from entering the ramp.

He smiled when he saw the silver van marked SherMobile came to a screeching halt in front of him.

He approached the van, one of Mabel and Dipper’s letters in hand, and tapped on the window.

“Sir, are you Sherman Pines? Twenty-first century?” His nasally voice could barely be heard over the sounds of the freeway.

Sherman rolled the passenger window down, leaning his head out the window. “Er, yes. What’s the problem? Is the ramp closed?”

“For you? Yes. You’re going to want to find another route.” Blendin said. “Just trust me on this.”

“Blendin? What are you doing here?” Dipper’s head poked out from the back seat.

“Dipper, do you know this man?” Sherman asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, he’s a time traveler. But what’s so important about--” Dipper tried to speak, but was cut off by Blendin thrusting the letter towards him, through the open window, and past Sherman’s face. “What’s this?”

“Dipper, Mabel, this is extremely important. I need you to do this so we don’t cause a paradox.” Blendin said, his voice grave. “I need you two to copy that letter  _ exactly  _ fifteen times, send them to 618 Gopher Road, Gravity Falls Oregon, and tell Stanley and Stanford Pines to bury them in these exact locations.” Blendin handed Mabel a piece of paper with coordinates marked on them. “Oh, and I don’t want to scare you, but if you don’t do that, it’ll cause a paradox and your parents will die and time will be undone.” Blendin said, before stepping away from the vehicle. “You have a nice night!” He gave the Pines family a little wave, as a very confused Sherman did a three point turn to get off the intersection.

Blendin almost didn’t notice the headlights behind him.

He was lucky he’d cleared the ramp beforehand.

Sherman Pines had just turned around and was about to drive off the ramp when a sedan, whose driver couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old, hit the car from behind.

Blendin rushed to the scene immediately, assessing the damage, before reeling back in horror.

Sherman and Alexandria had survived the crash this time around, but Dipper and Mabel died instantly.

Their parents were too busy grieving to notice Blendin making his escape to another timeline in a flash of light.

He’d caught his past self right as he’d arrived.

“Past me, Plan A failed, time travel to this time and tell past you that Plan A failed, et cetera.” Blendin told his past self with a wave of his hand.

"Time dangit!" His past self replied, and snapped his time machine to go back to another past.

This time around, Blendin kept up with the crossing guard bit, but positioned himself on the other end of the road, where the sedan had come from, intending to stop it and the driver in their tracks. When he saw the headlights come into view, heard the squeal of the tires as the driver tried to stop, he nearly panicked. The old beat up sedan stopped about three feet in front of him, and the driver was outside the car almost immediately.

“Oh my god, are you alright? I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I hit a pedestria--”

Blendin saw the SherMobile coming up the ramp just in time to jump out of the way.

The driver of the sedan hadn’t.

Blendin sighed and snapped the tape measurer once again.

This time around, when he met with his past selves, he merely slipped the first one a note, reading “Plan B fails, too. Proceed to Plan C” and with two more 'time dangits', went further back.

San Francisco, California, September 7, 2012. Six minutes before impact.

He went for the sedan again, further away from the ramp.

The driver was still concerned for his well being, but not for long. Blendin wasted no time in slashing the driver’s tires, ensuring that they wouldn’t be going out on the road again tonight. With four minutes to go before the impact happened in the original timeline, ran towards the ramp to intercept the Pines family and give him their instructions.

They’d taken it rather well this time around.

Blendin snapped the tape measurer once again, to September 8, 2012, around midday, to find Dipper and Mabel mailing fifteen copies of their letters to their Grunkles, complete with instructions on where to bury them and when. He caught their eye, and waved before disappearing in another flash of light, jumping forward a few months after the bar mitzvah.

As soon as he felt the fire on his face, saw the creatures of the nightmare realm terrorizing the inhabitants of this world, felt a sickening twist in his gut as time died and meaning lost meaning, Blendin thanked Time Baby themselves he’d thought to double check the timeline.

When the summer of 2012 had ended, the rift between worlds thankfully hadn’t fallen into the wrong hands. However, it had yet to be closed either, and it seemed to Blendin that something about Sherman and Alexandria Pines surviving had caused it to open.

With a sigh, he snapped the tape measurer once again.

He met with his past selves, shook his head solemnly, this time earning a chorus of legitimate swear words, and left for Gravity Falls, Oregon, mid-October, to break the news.

The Shack was chilly in October, and Stan could never bring himself to turn on the heater until absolutely necessary. This left Fiddleford and Stanford huddled together under a blanket in their room, sitting on the couch and repairing their new computer.

"Stanford, would you hand me those pliers over yonder?" Fiddleford motioned to the tool box next to Ford with one hand, and held a tiny circuit board with wild wires sticking out of it close to his face.

“Of course, Fidds.” Stanford said, reaching towards the pliers and handing them over. Ford had grasped the finer concepts of what Fiddleford was doing to the computer several days ago, but Ford was more than content watching the man work. It was strangely relaxing, seeing those hints of familiarity after all these years.

Fiddleford's hand lingered when he accepted the pliers, Stanford's hands sent a pleasant chill down his spine. He pinched one of the wires on the circuit off, his tongue stuck out in concentration. "And... That should do it!" He set the circuit in his lap and put the pliers down. 

“Ready to install it and test it out?” Ford asked, picking up the laptop shell, smiling a bit.

"Sure am, let's do it!" Fiddleford leaned over Ford to place missing pieces in the laptop shell, letting Ford act as his work bench.

When Ford hit the power button, he blinked, and was a little surprised to find that it had finished booting up already. He slowly moved the mouse to open the browser, only to find that running at similar speeds. “Fidds, this is amazing!” He said, searching as many things as he could. The only thing slowing him down was the speed of his own sluggish typing. 

"It’s nothin', really, it was pretty simple." Fiddleford smiled and leaned against Ford's shoulder to watch him play around with the computer. "This should help it run a little quicker even when ev'ryone is usin' the internet at once. Thanks fer doin this with me, it was fun."

“...Fidds, do you… Do you remember what you were doing right before I called you up to Gravity Falls?” Ford asked quietly, staring at a webpage on Dolly the sheep.

"Not quite... I do remember bein' in Palo Alto, but I don't really recall why I was there." Fiddleford scratched his bearded chin.

“You were…” Ford took a deep breath, fingers drumming idly against the keyboard. “You were trying to build your own personal computers in your garage…” He said quietly.

Fiddleford took a while to process, not believing Ford at first. Until flashes of late nights in his garage, hunched over spare junk parts that became computers with his hard work came back to him. "Wow... I coulda been makin' these for a livin'... But then I wouldn't have been able to help you, Stanford."

Ford didn’t say anything, he just stared at the screen, focusing on keeping his hands from trembling.

"Stanford...? Hey, don't feel bad about that. I wanted to come and help you. If I didn't, I would have said no. I know there were some mishaps... But I don't regret comin' out to Gravity Falls." Fiddleford placed a hand over Ford's and grasped it gently. "You were my best friend. You would have done the same fer me, if I had asked you to come help with my computermajigs."

Thinking back on it, as much as he’d like to say that he would have jumped at the chance to help Fiddleford, Ford couldn’t say for certain what he would have done. Unsure of how to respond, he remained silent, hoping that Fiddleford would drop the conversation.

After a long silence, Fiddleford let go of Stanford's hand, positive that he was making Stanford too uncomfortable. "You know, it’s not too late for me. I got plenty of years left in me. I could make computermajigs and sell em still." Fiddleford stopped to chuckle, "I won't let you stop me this time, Stanford."

Unable to pick up on Fiddleford’s sarcasm, which to be fair, wasn’t too different from how he normally talked, Ford hunched away from Fiddleford, whispering an “I’m sorry,” under his breath.

Fiddleford reached out to touch Ford's shoulder. "Hey now, I was trying to joke with you, Stanford. Please don't feel bad on my behalf." Fiddleford gripped Ford's shoulder. "I didn't mean to get you upset." Fiddleford reached his spindly arms around Ford’s shoulders, pulling him into a light hug.

Ford froze for a moment, before hunching over and wrapping his own arms around Fiddleford, whispering another, “I’m sorry Fiddleford,” into his ear.

Fiddleford gripped Stanford tighter and whispered back, "It's okay, Stanford, I promise." Fiddleford felt a rush of comfort and familiarly in Ford's arms. His hands reached up to the nape of Ford's neck, grasping a little tuft of hair gently. Fiddleford's heart raced, having Ford so close again allowed more pleasant memories to flow through his brain, he felt happy. Ford tensed at the touch, this was too fast, too close to his  _ neck oh god _ , and quickly but gently pushed Fiddleford away, covering his mouth with his fist to hide his panicked breathing. 

"I'm sorry!" Fiddleford exclaimed, "Are you okay? I didn't mean to get too carried away…”

“No, no it’s not you I just--” Ford took a few shaky breaths. “It’s still too soon, I’m sorry…” 

"No, don't apologize." Fiddleford looked away, embarrassed that he was letting his own selfish wants get in the way of Stanford's comfort. "I understand. This is gonna be tough for the both of us-- a-assumin' that this i-is something?"

“Well… I’d…” To be honest, Ford hadn’t given it much thought since their day at the mall. “I’d…  _ like _ for it to be a… to be  _ something _ … I just…” Ford sighed. “I don’t know what to do.”

Fiddleford nodded and scooted away a little, the blanket falling off of his shoulders. "It's okay. I don't wanna do something that you aren't okay with." Fiddleford could remember back in the seventies, Ford being less hesitant, less reserved. He hadn’t been wild and hormonal per se, but it was a far cry from how he was now. He had been affectionate at least, caring, almost romantic. Something big had obviously changed him.

“...Well, I do think it’s time we at least talked about it…” Ford said, quietly.

Fiddleford turned to face Stanford and pulled his knees up to his chest. “I agree. I’ll admit, I do have some feelings for you. You’ve been doin so much to help me remember my past, and in my memories, you’re there, you’re kind and gentle, and I’m startin’ to miss you.”

Ford stared, one eyebrow raised. “...I’ve missed you too. But I’m not as gentle as you seem to think I am.” He paused. “...And I suppose I’m not that kind, either.  _ You’re  _ the kind one. You’re always so cheerful, and…thoughtful.”

“It’s easy to be cheerful if it’ll help you, Stanley, and the kids feel a little more cheerful too. Everyone in this house sure does need a little happiness…” Fiddleford paused, taking a deep breath. “We don’t have to miss each other. We’re right here. We-- we could start from scratch.”

“If we did start anything, starting over would be our best option.” Ford said. “It’d be better for everyone that way, if we didn’t pick up right where we left off.”

“I’m okay with that.” Fiddleford put his hand out for a shake and smiled, “Hello there, Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, nice ta meet’cha!”

Ford slowly reached his hand out to shake Fiddleford’s. “Greetings. I’m Stanford Pines.” He said, giving Fiddleford a small smile. “It’s very nice to meet you, as well.”

“Now, you wouldn’t happen to know anythin’ about assemblin’ computer circuitry, would ya? I’m lookin for an assistant to finish this here laptop.” Fiddleford tried not to cackle at his own joke, but he couldn’t help little chuckles escaping him between words.

“You know, I did learn quite a lot about these things from an old friend.” Stanford said. “I’d be honored to have the position.”

“Well’n, consider it a date! I’ll meet ya here at seven.” Fiddleford said with a wink.

“I--” Ford smiled. “I’ll meet you here at seven.” He said, reaching for Fiddleford’s hand and giving it a firm squeeze. Fiddleford squeezed Ford’s hand back and leaned against his shoulder briefly.

“Stanford! Fiddleford! Kids! Front door, now!” Stan’s voice bellowed through the Shack, and carried sense of urgency that by now made Ford’s skin crawl.

“...Stay behind me, Fidds.” Ford said, reaching for the pistol on his hip. “I’m not sure what or who’s outside the Shack, but if it’s got Stan spooked it can’t be good.”

Fiddleford pulled the blanket around himself, as if that would enact as a shield, and followed close behind Stanford. The kids were still in their pajamas, it was a lazy Saturday morning, and Mabel and Dipper had also come downstairs armed, Dipper with Mabel's grappling hook, Mabel with her crossbow. Ford silently motioned the kids behind him, and they made their way to the front door.

“Dipper, Mabel, is this that Blendin guy you were talking about?” Stan asked, arms folded, nodding his head towards a portly man, with brown wavy hair that sat on his head like a toupee.

Mabel dropper her crossbow, nearly setting it off, and dragged Dipper over to approach Blendin. "You got our letters didn't you? Are you able to fix it? Can you save them!?" Mabel grabbed Blendin's hand, pleading.

“Do you… Do you need our help to save them, is that why you’re here?” Dipper asked, scratching his arm where the cast had been only a few days ago.

“...Do you have a twenty-first century living room for us to sit down in?” Blendin asked, his voice solemn, adjusting his goggles, revealing human eyes to Ford, much to his relief.

Mabel's heart sank and she released Blendin's hand. "Yeah... Come in." She stepped out of the doorway so Blendin could get inside. "Do you want something to drink?"

“No, thank you.” Blendin said. Stan and Ford never took their eyes off Blendin, though thankfully Ford pocketed his gun. Dipper and Mabel took a seat on the couch, with Stan next to them, ready to grab the kids and run should Blendin go rogue. Ford’s years of experience told him that Blendin was unarmed, and likely not skilled in combat, though he still kept an eye trained on him at all times, standing on the other end of the tiny couch. Fiddleford wasn’t entirely sure who or what this guy was, but he figured it couldn’t be good if it had everybody so upset.

“So what’s the deal, can you save Sherman and Alexandria or not?” Stan asked.

“Dipper, Mabel, being Globnar victors was more than enough to get the Time Anomaly Removal Crew’s permission to alter the time stream on your behalf.” Blendin said, his voice sounding more calculated and official. “I swear on my life and integrity as an agent of Time Baby that I did everything in my power to save your parents.”

“...But?” Ford asked, his heart sinking. This man was the kids last hope, and he was telling them  _ no _ .

“It can’t be done.” Blendin said, his voice cracking a little. “If your parents survive, you kids die. In one future, you kids survive with your parents, but they go to jail for hitting a pedestrian, the driver of the other car…” Blendin paused, calculating how much about the bad future he saw he could actually tell the Pines. “And if the crash never happens? A bridge between this world and the nightmare realm will open. There’s... something about you kids being  _ here _ , about the exact way that accident happened, about how all of that fits into plans this version of Bill Cipher has with our world, that prevents the  _ apocalypse _ . And I’m… I’m afraid that as an agent of Time Baby, tampering with an event like that, much less causing it, would result in not just my execution, but yours as well.”

Ford stood still as the grave, it took every ounce of self-control he had to stop himself from swearing, from cursing Bill Cipher’s name, from punching something,  _ anything _ , as hard as he could.

Mabel held onto Dipper and began to cry, whimpering, "Dipper, you were right, it’s hopeless." Dipper held onto his sister and shook, trying to be strong for her but failing miserably. Stan blinked the tears from his own eyes, and knelt down to wrap his arms around the kids.

“...I understand.” Ford said after a very long while. “I understand why you can’t make that sacrifice--”

“Oh malarkey, Ford! What happened to ‘losing them made me realize that I’d risk it for you too,’  _ huh _ ?!” Stan hissed.

“Stan you and I both know that there’s a difference between taking a risk and deliberately causing something.” Ford said, trying and failing to hold back the tears in his eyes. He turned back to Blendin. “I know that you did all you could. I don’t like the way it turned out, but I’m…  _ indifferent _ to how it changes anything. Regardless of what you, the Time Anomaly Removal Crew, or Time Baby says, regardless of what happens in the future where they all live, I’m going to do everything in my power to  _ get them back _ .” Ford said through clenched teeth. 

Mabel looked up at Ford from Dipper's shoulder, trying to make out his features through the tears in her eyes. “Do you mean it, Grunkle Ford?"

“With every bone in my body.” Ford said. “The only reason  _ he  _ can’t do anything is because he works for an immortal being.” He spat. “And the only thing immortal beings  _ do _ , besides mess around with mortals? Is hate  _ other  _ immortal beings, and put  _ all _ their time and energy into pissing each other off.  _ That’s _ why he can’t do anything.  _ I _ won’t rest until they’re  _ alive  _ again.” Ford’s face was red with anger.  _ I’m tired of waiting, and I’m tired of brooding. There’s nothing anyone can say or do to talk me out of this. _

Dipper sat up a little straighter, hearing Ford so determined gave him a little sliver of hope.  _ He's the author of the journals, he can do anything,  _ Dipper thought.  _ Maybe he really does know a way to bring them back... _

Stan’s own anger at his brother diminished once he realized the gravity of what Ford was saying. He  _ knew  _ the anger in Ford’s voice, and the frantic, desperate feeling that came with it.

“What you do now that they’re gone isn’t any of my business,” Blendin said. “And, for what it’s worth, I believe it only matters that they died in the first place. So if you were to bring them back… You likely wouldn’t be causing the apocalypse by doing so. I-I sincerely hope you’re successful, and I’m sorry I couldn’t be of any help.” Blendin said.

Mabel grabbed Blendin’s arm and clung onto him. “Thank you for trying. It means a lot to us-- Oh! Did you get your sweater too? Did it fit?”

“...I did. And it fit perfectly.” Blendin said. He’d had to resize it using future technology, but he decided to leave that part out, for Mabel’s sake. “Thank you, kids.”

Dipper pulled Mabel off of Blendin so he could make his way to the door. “No, thank you. You did a lot to help us out.” He said solemnly. “Great Uncle Ford will find a way, don’t worry.” He added, a final, tiny speck of hope in his voice.

The kids walked Blendin out, and watched him disappear with a snap of the time measuring tape. Fiddleford slowly walked up behind them, and put an arm around their shoulders.

“It’ll be okay, kids.” He said.

Mabel leaned into Fiddleford and held onto the sleeve on his shirt. “Can I help you make lunch today?” She needed the distraction, and she was beginning to cherish the time she had with her new Grunkle.

“Of course you can, Mabel.” Fiddleford said. “What are you thinkin’ we should make?”

“Hmmm… ” Mabel pondered while she pulled Fiddleford into the kitchen “How about grilled cheese and tomato soup?"

“I don’t see why not!” Fiddleford chuckled as Mabel dragged him away.

Dipper focused on Ford in the corner. His great uncle was in deep thought, and despite the tiny seed of hope in his heart, Dipper had a bad feeling about what it might take for Ford to achieve his goal. He approached Ford slowly, and cleared his throat before speaking. “H-hey, Great Uncle Ford? Are you going to need any help?"

"Well... I was thinking of starting by interrogating some ghosts, though..." Ford scratched his head. "I'll admit I'm not sure where to start. I suppose I'll be paying a visit to the cemetery this evening. Don’t worry, I’ll find a way to get them back."

“I know where you can find ghosts!” Dipper pulled his journal out and flipped through a few pages. He had written about his summer adventures recently, it was something to keep his mind off of the stress of school and his new environment. “The owners of the old Dusk 2 Dawn convenience store left ghosts there. Mabel, Wendy and our friends found them after we… kind of broke in. But it’s been closed down for years. I think their ghosts might still be there.” Dipper said, showing Ford his little sketches of the ghosts. 

“That’s fantastic!” Ford said, grabbing Dipper’s journal. “Based on what you’ve written here these ghosts aren’t too dangerous. Though, this part about the teenagers concerns me. I’ll have to go in alone tonight.”

“Let me go with you! I know how to get in, and they’ll remember me! I can just tell them I’m still twelve. Pleaseeee, Great Uncle Ford?” Dipper practically begged. He’d been wanting to help Ford with research for so long, and to help get his own parents back would be the mission of all missions.

“Dipper I…” Ford paused. “I suppose it is dangerous to confront ghosts alone… Alright, but only if Stan agrees. And if he says you can go, you stay  _ behind  _ me, at all times, got it?”

“Thankyouthankyou _ thankyou! _ ” Dipper hugged Ford, squeezing him tight, laughing in his excitement. “I’ll go ask Grunkle Stan right now!” Dipper quickly pulled away to run and find Stan.

Stan was in his office at his desk, looking over the plans to shut down the Shack at the end of the month for winter. He hadn’t made as much money in the past month as he normally would have, for obvious reasons. Stan rubbed at his temple, wondering if all he made this summer would be enough to support the kids with over the winter. His Halloween turnout would have to be outstanding, he would have to pull out all of the stops and make every penny possible. Stan quickly put his papers away when Dipper poked his head in the open doorway. “Hey, kiddo, what’s going on? You doing alright?”

“Uh, yeah, a little…” Dipper said, fidgeting a bit. "Listen, I want to ask you something..."

Stan sat up in his chair and motioned to the metal fold out chair on front of his desk. "Take a seat, Dipper."

“....Grunkle Stan, Ford thinks he can bring Mom and Dad back…” Dipper said quietly. “But he needs to talk to some ghosts first.”

“Dipper, I think Ford can handle a few ghosts.” Stan said. “Just promise me you’ll stay outta Ford’s crazy experiments, okay?”

“Um, see… That’s the thing. I actually know some ghosts. They used to run the Dusk 2 Dawn, they’re totally fri--”

“No.” Stan said, folding his arms.

"Grunkle Stan, I've dealt with them before, me and Mabel both! I never get to help Ford do anything, and I actually know about these ghosts, I could help bring Mom and Dad back!"

“No. I’m not putting you at risk, Dipper.” Stan huffed. Ford was walking down a dangerous path, one that had nearly driven Stan to suicide nearly thirty years ago, and there’d be hell to pay if he let Dipper follow Ford. “I  _ understand  _ you want to bring them back, I  _ understand  _ that you want to help, but  _ you’ve  _ got to understand that I’m not letting you get hurt.”

“But they’re totally nice! They just keep the shop, Grunkle Stan, I promise!” Dipper said, hoping that it wasn’t too much of a lie for Stan to notice.

“...I guess they were okay in life…” Stan said, recalling how the elderly convenience store owners had treated him thirty years ago, leading to the birth of the Mystery Shack. “And I know Ford wouldn’t let anything happen to you…” 

"Is that a yes?" Dipper was ready to jump out of his seat, ready to hear a yes, ready to go prepare for this evening's adventure.

“Is there a phone at this convenience store you and Ford can use to call me in an emergency?” Stan asked.  _ Maybe if Ford wants to bring Dipper… Maybe he won’t get as bad as I did… _

“Yeah!”

“Well, there’s your answer. If you’re not back by ten, you’re grounded.” Stan said.

"Thank you Grunkle Stan!" Dipper leapt from his seat and ran up to his room to start preparing.

“...Don’t screw this up Stanford…” Stan muttered, getting back to planning the budget for the coming months.

“Fidds?” Ford asked, peering into the kitchen, where Fiddleford and Mabel were making lunch. “A… About our plans for tonight…”

“Well I’d reckon you wanna get on yer necromantic research,” Fiddleford said, sliding a spatula underneath the toast in the pan. “All that paranormal stuff’s a bit too outta my comfort zone, so I’ll have to pass.”

"You don't mind putting our da-- our  _ plans _ off for another day?" Ford asked. 

Mabel peered over from her soup, "What's this? You two had plans? For this evening? That sounds like a  _ date. _ " Mabel smirked.

Wide eyed, Ford glanced in Fiddleford’s direction, continuing once Fiddleford gave a curt nod. “Well… It was  _ almost  _ a date. But I’ve got to go interrogate some ghosts tonight about the nature of the afterlife, I’ve  _ got  _ to work on bringing your parents back.” Ford said.

"So you guys are  _ dating? _ " Mabel gripped her spoon with excitement

“Well… we haven’t had a date yet, so…” Ford trailed off.

"Technically no, but I plan on askin' yer Grunkle Ford on another date, so we'll see." Fiddleford added and flipped the grilled cheese in the pan.

Mable waggled her eyebrows at Fiddleford and Stanford both, grinning as she turned back to her soup. "Ooooh, I see. So where are you gonna find some ghosts, Grunkle Ford?”

Ford sat at the table, taking out his own journal and turning to his old page on ghosts. "Dipper told me about the ghosts you encountered in the old convenience store."

“Oh, then count me out. And don’t eat their Smile Dip. It  _ does things  _ to ya.” Mabel said. “Also I’m pretty sure I got possessed. Gave me a huge crick in my neck.”

“Great Uncle Ford, he said yes! So when are we leaving?” Dipper said, running into the kitchen and nearly smacking his face into the wall.

“ _ I  _ am leaving at nine.  _ You  _ are staying here where you  _ won’t get possessed _ .” Ford said, his face paling a bit.

“But I won’t get possessed! They  _ like  _ me, remember? You said I could come!” Dipper said.

"Well, he did somehow save me and all of the teens that they did crazy ghost booby traps on. Wendy said he fought them with a bat, but I don't think that's true.” Mabel pointed out.

“...I fought them…” Dipper said quietly, wringing his hands.

"Then are you sure they're still going to 'like you' so much?" Ford asked.

“Yeah, we totally made up. They said I was a worthy adversary, or something. Like Multibear did, remember?” Dipper said, chuckling nervously. “Please can I come?”

“Wait who’s--” Ford sighed. “Never mind. Just… Yes you can come. We’ll need some moonstone, some blue lace agate, and black tourmaline for protection, but you can come.” Ford said, putting a hand on Dipper’s shoulder. “Now eat some lunch and get some rest. We’re leaving at dusk.”

Mabel and Fiddleford served everyone lunch, even making a plate for Stan to eat in his office. Dipper and Ford left the table early to go prepare. Dipper packed his backpack with his journal, plenty of pens, a first aid kit, some emergency snacks, and borrowed Mabel's grappling hook. He dressed in a long sleeve shirt and his vest, some long pants and good shoes for walking in. He felt ready to go on an adventure, and looked the part. Ford came armed with a pistol and several knives, made from silver, with various stones imbedded in the hilts. Dipper waited by the front door for Ford to show up so he could lead their way to the convenience store, and was surprised when Ford appeared holding a necklace and… some weird plants?

“I’m not risking you getting possessed, Dipper.” Ford said when he noticed Dipper’s quizzical look. “You’re wearing this blue lace agate, and you’re stuffing these cloves into your pockets. It’ll be like a mini barrier, but for ghosts instead of Bill.”

Dipper trusted his uncle and took the cloves, shoving them in his pockets. He put the necklace on and actually enjoyed the look: he felt like a paranormal investigator, like the real deal. "Thank you, Great Uncle Ford.” He said, puffing his chest out. “Let’s go talk to some ghosts!”

The drive to the convenience store took longer than Dipper remembered, likely due to Ford’s sluggish, cautious driving. It had been decades since he was behind the wheel of a car and it showed. Though the store was only ten minutes away, it was well over forty-five minutes before they’d actually reached their destination.

Dipper hopped out of the car once they pulled up to the chain link fence. It didn't seem as tall as it used to be, Dipper had grown since he'd been here last. "Alright, we have to climb this fence. I think the doors should be unlocked from the last time I was here, but if not, I can climb on through the vents again.”

“I can just kick down the doors.” Ford said. “Alright, Dipper, get on my back, I’ll get us over.”

"I can carry myself!" Dipper sputtered out, he didn't want to seem incapable. He grabbed onto the fence and struggled to get his footing, ending up dangling by his fingers. Ford lifted him up with ease, and set him back down on the ground.

“Well in that case, I’d prefer if I went over first so I don’t accidentally crush you.” Ford said, smirking.

Dipper stood back to watch Ford climb the fence, taking mental notes on how exactly he hoisted himself up and over the fence. Dipper took another try, following Ford's footsteps, and made it over the fence, falling on his butt once he got down. "Ow! Again?"

“Are you alright?” Ford asked, helping Dipper to his feet.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Dipper said, "Totally fine." He approached the front doors of the convenience store and pulled at the door by its handles, falling backwards again as it flew open as if blown by a gust of wind.  Ford was quick enough to catch him this time, but it didn’t make Dipper feel much better.

“...Does that... Normally do that?” Ford asked, wondering just how powerful these ghosts really were.

"Um. Nope. It doesn't. They usually just show people their skeletons." Dipper slowly entered the store and pulled out a flashlight from his backpack. "I think the power switch is over here..."

“Alright, you get the lights, I’ll set about contacting the ghosts, if they’re still around.” Ford said, moving to the center of the room. He cleared his throat and pulled out his journal, flipping to the page about ghosts, and read a summoning incantation. “ Salve spiritus, exi spiritus, volo loqui spiritus, permitte mihi loqui cum spiritus, huc spiritus, da mihi loqui spiritus!”

Nothing happened.

“H-hey, Mr. and Mrs. Duskerton? It’s me, Dipper?” Dipper said, timidly. The two stood still for a moment, and Ford was about to speak, when the convenience store was bathed in a pale blue light, and the ghosts of two elderly shopkeepers appeared before them.

“Well, if it isn’t Dipper Pines! So nice to see you!” Ma Duskerton said. 

“Oh, and I remember you!” Pa Duskerton floated down to where Ford was standing. “Yer that sciency fella that lives in the woods! Are you still giving tours?”

“Well you’re not  _ wrong _ …” Dipper said, scratching the back of his head. "If you don't mind... We'd like to ask you some questions. About ghosts and the afterlife and stuff."

“Oh, we don’t mind one bit!  _ If _ you do us a little favor in return." Pa said.

“...Does this favor involve possession in any way shape or form?” Ford asked, putting himself between Dipper and the ghosts. “We don’t make  _ deals _ with things like you.”

"Of course not! Why in the world…?” Martha gasped, incredulous.

“Well we did possess his sister that one time, dear.” Pa reminded her.

"You've got me there! We just want to see that precious little Lamby Dance again!"

Dipper’s face paled, and he started to back away. “I-I don’t want to… P-Pick something else…”

"Now Dipper, is that any way to speak to your elders?” Pa said, waggling his finger.

“You heard him, ma’am.” Ford said, tensing, reaching for the black tourmaline studded knife on his belt. “There’s plenty of other ghosts we can talk to,” He lied. “You want to do this, you do it on  _ our  _ terms. Pick something else.”

“Oh, did you learn any other cute little dances since you were gone?” Ma asked.

“N-no. I didn't.” Dipper was practically hiding behind Ford now. “Are you sure there’s nothing else--”

“No!” Pa screamed, lighting his form on fire.

“STOP!” Ford screamed, throwing the knife at Pa’s ghost. The flames dissipated the second the blade pierced his aura.

“What did you  _ do _ to me?!” Pa asked, desperately trying to pull the knife out from his ghostly form.

“New deal,  _ ghost _ . That knife is studded with  _ black tourmaline _ , it’ll transmute your powers so they’ll do the opposite of what you intend. I’ll remove it once you tell me what I want to know.” Ford said, his voice deep and authoritative.

Dipper clutched the agate hanging from his neck, hoping that it would bring him some sort of power against the ghosts. He felt afraid, even with Ford protecting him. The little dance asked of him was no longer something to throw around. Dipper did that for his mother only, the lamby dance was now  _ sacred _ .

“You-- You’re no better than those pesky teenagers!” Ma shrieked.

“One more outburst like that and you’ll find out what  _ jet _ does, Mrs. Duskerton!” Ford said, slowly backing towards the door, making sure he was between the Duskertons and Dipper. “Where do you get off, asking something like  _ that  _ of this kid?!” Ford shouted. He’d never seen the lamby dance, of course, but he remembered Dipper mentioning it the day his parents died. Ford remembered everything about that day, plain as  _ ink _ .

"He had no problem doing it before, something has changed, hasn't it, Dipper?" Ma asked, circling around Ford and Dipper. Ford tightened his grip on Dipper’s shoulder.

“ _ Back. Off. _ ” Ford said through clenched teeth.

“ _ How  _ old did you say you were again?” Pa asked, floating as close to Ford as he dared.

Dipper felt surrounded, crowded, trapped, and he began to panic, " _ Thirteen! Back off!"  _ He screamed, imitating Ford, his voice raspy and hoarse.

Ford picked up on Dipper’s panic immediately, having seen it before. “We’re leaving.” He said, scooping Dipper up with one arm and making a run for the door.

“ _ No wonder he’s so rude and disrespectful! _ ” Pa screamed, his form twitching from the effects of the knife.

“ _ Always sassing customers and harassing us elderly folks! _ ” Ma screeched, hurtling towards Ford and Dipper for an attack.

“Get back!” Ford shouted, hurtling a jet studded knife towards Ma Duskerton. She dodged, and the knife stuck in the wall, sending cracks through the plaster. Ford wasted no time in reaching for a ruby studded one and slashed at the attacking ghost. “This one won’t make you lose your form, but it’ll at least hurt a lot!” He shouted.

“ _ Teenagers are banned from our store! _ ” Ma screamed, enveloping the store’s inventory in a turquoise aura and sending every object she could find hurtling towards Ford and Dipper. Despite the agate and the cloves Ford knew were in Dipper’s pockets, Ford ducked over Dipper, shielding him with his own body.

Dipper shook and held onto Ford with white knuckles as merchandise came hurdling towards them, "F-ford what do I do? What do we do?!"

“Dipper, calm down, you’re going to be fine, I’m not going to let them hurt you.” Ford said, holding Dipper tight.

“ _Why do you insist on protecting that **teen** , he’s nothing but awful to us fellow old folks?_” Ma screeched when her attacks failed.

“ _ First  _ of all, who are you calling old?!” Ford shook with anger, spinning around on his heel to face the ghosts. “ _ Second _ , I think he’s  _ great _ ! Maybe it’s not  _ teens  _ that are the problem, maybe the problem is your own  _ awful  _ personalities! You think just because someone’s a teenager that means they’re disrespectful?! That they’re  _ awful _ ?!” Ford had their attention now. Dipper glanced around, trying to think of something through his panic. He slowly inched towards the jet studded knife Ford had thrown, an idea forming in his head. “Teens aren’t the problem, teen  _ slang  _ isn’t the problem, teen  _ music _ isn’t the problem, it’s  _ you _ ! You can’t accept that  _ life’s going on without you _ ! Hell, I’ve been trapped in  _ another flipping dimension  _ for thirty years, and do you see  _ me  _ trying to live like I’m in the eighties?! No! Because I might mess up, and I might come off in a way I didn’t intend, but I am  _ trying  _ to keep up with everyone! Do you know how hard it is to do that when you’ve lost thirty years of experience?! You two are sad, pathetic, lonely  _ jerks  _ because in your own  _ stubbornness  _ you drove everybody else away! And the worst part is that your own dismal personas  _ hurt my  ** teenaged  ** nephew. _ ” Ford said, taking notice of Dipper reaching out, grabbing the jet studded knife. “And for  _ that _ you’re going to pay  _ dearly _ .” He smirked, leaping out of the way as Dipper attacked, lunging towards the ghosts. 

“Leave me and my uncle  _ alone _ !” He yelled, slinging the knife. This time, the hit landed, and Ma Duskerton’s form shrank and shriveled until she could no longer hold it together, and dissipated, howling in pain.

“ _ Ma! You rascal, you scallywag, you scoundrel, you-- you  ** teenager! ** _ ” Pa Duskerton’s rage was cut short by a quick slash from Dipper, the ghost’s final moments before his form dissipated were spent writhing in pain.

“That was great, kid!” Ford said, chuckling a bit. “They’ll reform soon, though… We’d better get out of here while they’re down.” Ford said under his breath. He sighed. “Dipper, do me a favor? If I ever start talking like those guys, shoot me.” Ford said, attempting to calm Dipper down.

Dipper slowly handed the knife back to Ford, he choked out a laugh between his tears, "I w-will, promise."

“Are you alright?” Ford asked, kneeling down, putting his hands on Dipper’s shoulders.

“N-no F-Ford I can’t b-breathe,” Dipper stuttered out, hyperventilating. “I f-feel like I’m  _ d-dying _ .”

Ford scooped Dipper up once more, carrying him out of the store and out into the parking lot, setting him down on the hood of Stan’s car. He brought two fingers to Dipper’s neck, checking his pulse. “Dipper, listen to me, you’re having a panic attack. You’re not going to die, you’re going to be fine in a few minutes. Just try to take a deep breath.” Ford said, wiping the tears from Dipper’s eyes. “Trust me, Dipper. I get these, too. You’ve  _ seen _ me get them, and I always come out alright, right? Just try to focus on your intellect, and control your fear.”

Dipper quaked as he gasped for air, and nodded his head, trying to take in Ford's advice. After some silence, Dipper was able to breathe better, taking big breaths in through his nose and out of his mouth. He's panicked before, plenty of times, but he had never felt something so severe. Just the phrase 'panic attack' made Dipper want to panic even more. The only thoughts running through his head were awful,  _ Great Uncle Ford thinks you can’t handle yourself, it’s your fault Mom and Dad are gone, you didn’t call the ambulance you called Stan instead if you’d just  ** called  ** the freaking ambulance they might still be here, the ghosts hate you, stupid kid, stupid  ** teen ** , you’ll never see your parents again, it’s hopeless, you don't do anything right. _

Ford’s arms wrapped around Dipper’s shoulders, pulling him into a hug. “I’m so sorry, Dipper. I should have gotten you out of there the  _ second  _ they tried to strike a deal…”

"It’s m-my fault, Ford. I'm the one who w-wanted to come, I wanted to come here and I c-co-ouldn't do it."

“Dipper, you did  _ great  _ in there, better than I would have at your age.” Ford said. “How many thirteen year olds are brave enough to stab two ghosts like that? You fought them off with a  _ bat _ last time, and--” Ford was cut when Dipper clung to Ford even tighter, his sobs growing louder.

“ _ I-I did the dance! The asked me t-to do the dance a-and I had to! I had to save my friends! _ " Dipper was wailing now, tears and snot soaking into Ford’s coat. “ _...I’m I-I’m sorry mom… _ ”

“That was still very brave, Dipper.” Ford said. “And I still think you’re a great kid.”

Dipper stayed silent for a while, his breathing steadied and he held onto Ford loosely. He exhausted himself, he felt awful, and he needed to go home. When Ford felt Dipper loosen his grip, he gently picked Dipper up and set him into the passenger seat of the car, and they were off.

They arrived home close to eleven at night, an hour after Stan's curfew.

“Where the heck have you two been?! I’ve been worried sick!” Stan paused, taken aback by Dipper’s shaken appearance. “What.  _ Happened. _ ”

“We were at the convenience store. The ghosts made Dipper upset, and we stabbed them.” Ford said quietly, carrying a half asleep Dipper in his arms.

"I knew I shouldn't have let him go with you. He's too young for this stuff, Ford, he's a kid!" Stanley roared, disturbing Mabel's slumber upstairs.

“I know. I’m sorry. To both of you.” Ford said, trying to set Dipper down so he could go to bed. “I won’t take him out again.” Dipper clung to Ford, half asleep from exhaustion.

"No, please Great Uncle Ford,  _ please _ ! I-I can handle my-myself I--"

"Yes you can. I know you can. But I'm not going to risk you getting hurt again." Ford said. 

Mabel came tiptoeing downstairs, rubbing her eyes, sniffling. 

"Grunkle Ford...? Grunkle Stan? What's going on?" Mabel asked. She laid eyes on Dipper's weak frame and gasped. "Dipper, are you okay?!" She ran to him to support him, intending to take him up to bed. Dipper was a wet noodle, hanging loosely on his sister.

"M'fine. Really. I'm just tired." Dipper said, rubbing his eyes. 

"Let's get to bed then, brobro." Mabel supported her brother's weight with ease and helped him up the stairs to their attic.

Ford waited until the twins were out of earshot before speaking again, feeling Stan's glare on his back every second. "Alexandria was wrong about me. I'm not fit to look out for them, and you're better at this than I ever was anyways. I shouldn't have let Dipper come in the first place, or I at least should have left the second those ghosts tried to strike a  _ deal.  _ I'm sorry, Stan. I won't give up on finding a way to bring their parents back, but I failed both you and the kids tonight."

"Ford... I shouldn't be so hard on you, I'm no parent either. Heck, Dipper wouldn't have gone with you if I hadn't given him the okay. I guess those old coots are worse in death than they were in life." Stanley paused and grabbed Ford's shoulder, "I can't do this alone. I need your help, whether we're cut out for it or not. I mean, you at least stabbed those guys when they messed with Dipper. Lord knows how stabbing a ghost is possible... but you  _ were  _ there for him when he needed you." 

“Don’t sell yourself short, Stan.” Ford said. “You’re the one who’s been right about what the kids need from the very start.” 

“Heh, you really think so?” Stan said. “Oh, and, hey… Did you find anything out? About the kid’s parents?”

Ford sighed. “No, they… They attacked before we could get any information.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Ford.” Stan said, giving Ford’s shoulder a light squeeze. “Hey, there’s always the next go around.”

Ford looked up in realization. “Yeah, you’re right. And I think I just had an idea. Tell Fiddleford I’ll be in the basement if he needs me!” He said before sprinting towards the vending machine, and disappearing out of sight.

Stanley shook his head and shuffled back off to his room to get ready for bed. Knowing Ford, he’d likely work himself to exhaustion, so Stanley would have to get enough for both of them if they wanted to be able to handle the kids in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> izq cpi tedvcrh kwci ppismcxf'd limohspymljd riolgmdg kosp cr ewdzfc ure aolfw pw uvs pveovf
> 
> Oh look a bonus cipher. Good luck figuring that one out! Thanks to everyone for reading, we've got the next chapter in the works, and it'll be here soon! Go ahead and comment below if you have questions!  
> (lord-of-vaginas-and-time.tumblr.com and greenllamajeans.tumblr.com)


	13. Holding Hands, Making Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6-15-18-4, 25-15-21 8-5-12-4 8-1-14-4-19? 25-15-21 3-21-4-4-12-5-4? 25-15-21 23-9-12-4 2-1-19-20-1-18-4 25-15-21!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a forewarning, a brief but in depth mention of suicide happens in this chapter!

Ford’s fingers twitched.

He’d been down in the basement for a few hours, pouring over his old research notes for any clues to bring Sherman and Alexandria back, wracking his brain for anything he learned on the other side of the portal that would help.

Slowly, he pieced together a plan.

The dead became more agitated the more the living spoke ill of them, all he’d have to do to bring them back was make them roll in their graves.

But how to make them hear from all the way in San Francisco?

Ford searched his memory, desperately trying to recall an ancient and forbidden tongue, said to resonate with the souls of those long dead when recited properly.

He put his misgivings aside, and readied the ritual.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, he dared speak the words aloud, “ _Vfojq epsfkwj wjt wlszwjtfow vwum!_ ”

Nothing happened.

On to the next eldritch tongue.

And the next.

Hours passed, Ford paced around the basement, wringing his hands. _There has to be **something,** I’ve got to think of a way to save them, Dipper and Mabel are counting on me, I can’t fail them **again**. _ He’d sworn to it, he wouldn’t rest until Sherman and Alexandria were alive again, he _couldn’t rest_ until they were alive again.

Ford glanced at a small clock resting on one of the consoles. It was late, almost four in the morning, but he couldn’t stop now. He had to save them.

Sleep beckoned, but Ford persisted.

Time moved forwards.

Stanley paced upstairs in the gift shop, nervously eyeing the vending machine, sunlight from the gift shop window illuminating streaks in the dust.

It might be hours, _days_ even,before Ford emerged from the basement again. Stanley could see it now, him calling from the vending machine for meals, for family time, for a little daylight, and Ford lost to the soul sucking hopelessness of that damned basement.

_I shouldn’t have been so hard on him, I should’ve said something when he told Blendin off._

A painful familiarity welled up in Stan’s chest, one that spoke of weeks spent down in the basement, huddled against the malfunctioning portal, of vowing to neither eat nor sleep until Stanford was _home_. Worse, it spoke of crushing failure, of a desolate pit in Stan’s chest that opened up and didn’t stop opening. It spoke of a small fire in the basement, easily put out, but had ruined several _months’_ worth of Stan’s work on the portal. It spoke of a noose, fashioned out of an old belt, cut at the last second by a switchblade because Stan was lucky enough to remember _I’m the only one who can get Ford back, I’m the only chance he has_ , before his oxygen deprived brain lost motor function.

Stan couldn’t let that happen to Ford. He _wouldn't_ let that happen, no matter what. He’d barge into the basement, even if Ford got upset, even if Ford turned out to be _fine_ , and drag him to the surface kicking and screaming if he had to.

Stan’s fingers shook a bit as he typed in the passcode for the vending machine. He was so distraught he nearly hit his face when the vending machine swung open. Stan tried his best to remain calm on the ride down to the third floor, but there were too many horrible thoughts of what he’d find at the bottom running through his head.

A wave of relief flushed over Stanley when he saw Ford was at least alive, but it didn't last long. Ford was pacing in a circle, his hair matted and greasy, his clothes wrinkled. Stan flashed back to the way his brother had been thirty years ago, unshaven, paranoid, scared, floating away--

“...Stan?” Ford mumbled, mostly to himself. “No… no he wouldn’t know…” Ford flipped through the pages of one of his journals, squinting at it a bit before remembering that he’d need a blacklight to read the text. “...No can’t sleep, not yet, only been a few hours…”

“Stanford? You alright there? You’ve… You’ve been down here a while.” Stan said.

“Huh?” Ford asked. He seemed to doze off for a second, before he shook his head, snapping back to reality. “…Yeah, I’ve only been down here a few hours...”

“Ford, you’ve been down here all night, this isn’t healthy.” Stan said, slowly reaching out to Ford, almost afraid to touch him.

“It can’t be that late, you worry too much…” Ford paused for a moment, before muttering under his breath. “What if I tried…? _Uwj'd elssh vfojq dpsk vwum qiddw ti od rif dpsk qiddw roz dpoe uwj'd elssh..._ ”

“Okay, I draw the line at weird spooky tongues, Ford. You’re coming back upstairs.” Stan said.

Stan tried to grab one of Ford's arms, but Ford snapped, pushing him away and scrambling to the far side of the room, where the portal had been.

“Jesus, Stanley, don’t scare me like that!” Ford said, a little more alert than before.

“Ford, this place isn’t good for you, it messes with your head, you gotta trust me. Just come upstairs, you’ll work yourself to death if you stay here.” Stan said. Suddenly Ford was gripping his shoulders, and for a second Stan thought he’d finally gotten through to him.

"....That's it! Stanley you’re a goddamn genius! I’ll just _die_ , grab their souls and claw my way back through from the afterlife!”

"Like _hell_ you will!" Stan screamed, grabbing Ford around the wrists. “Stop being such a goddamned _idiot_ … You can’t save them if you’re…” He couldn’t even get the word out, he was dangerously close to flashing back to the last time they’d fought in the basement.

“It was _your_ …” Ford started to protest before shaking his head. “No, you weren’t… You weren’t being literal… God, what the fuck kind of... Who’d think to claw their way back from the afterlife, that’s ridiculous…” Ford paused, something clicking in his head. “Stan, I need some fucking _sleep_ …”

“Now you’re getting it.” Stan said.

“How long have I been down here?” Ford asked, rubbing his eyes. “The clock said it was four…”

“It’s ten. The kids have already left for school, Ford.” Stan said, loosening his grip on Ford’s wrists. “You must’ve lost track of time…”

“...Thanks for checking on me, Stan…” Ford whispered, his eyelids drooping, panic bubbling in his throat at the realization that he’d lost touch with reality.

“Yeah, you’re welcome.” Stan grunted, lifting one of Ford’s arms over his shoulder. “Another hour and you might have been even more delirious. Let’s get you to bed.” Stan said, helping Ford into the elevator. Ford leaned against the wall, eyes closed. Stan tensed, ready to catch him if he fell asleep, but he never did.

Fiddleford was hunched over his laptop when Stan and Ford walked into the living room, admiring his own handiwork. He looked up with a smile to see that Stan had finally gotten Ford to come up from the basement. “How’s the spooky necromancy goin’ down there, Ford?” Fiddleford asked, shutting his laptop down.

Ford yawned and tried to stand up straight without Stan’s help, and ended up on wobbly legs, having to lean against the wall for support. “Not so good… I need to get some rest.”

Fiddleford stood and gathered the laptop under his arm. “Here, let me help you. I might take a little nap myself, I’ve been workin on my own project this mornin’.” Fiddleford draped one of Ford’s arms over his shoulder, and to Stan’s surprise, he managed to support Ford’s weight. “Woah there, you really must be tired!”

Ford gripped onto Fiddleford’s shirt and hobbled along to their bedroom with Fiddleford’s help, “Fidds, I can put myself to bed. How are you even carrying me?”

“Oh, you used to get like this a lot back in college, remember?” Fiddleford said. “Besides, I can operate a stick shift with my beard, I reckon I can manage haulin’ you off to bed.”

“I’m too tired to even imagine how operating a stick shift with a beard is _possible_.” Ford said, yawning a bit. “But I’d like to know more about it in the morning.”

“Stanford it _is_ morning, remember?” Stan deadpanned. “Just… Just make sure he gets some sleep, Fiddleford. I’ve got work to do, Halloween’s coming up _fast_.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ll take care of him,” Fiddleford grunted as they walked, both of them a little unsteady. Once they made it to the bedroom, and Fiddleford set Stanford down on the air mattress, and took a deep breath. “Now, get cozy and relax, you need to get your sleep.”

Ford flopped down on the air mattress when he was released, landing on his side, his various weaponry squishing unpleasantly against his body. “Fidds, this is your bed, I’m fine with the couch.”

“Ford, just sleep on the damn bed.” Stan said. “Sweet Moses, we’re all worried about you.”

"I don't mind sharin' none, it's your house in the first place." Fiddleford waved his hand and took a seat on the couch. "You just get to sleep, Stanford."

Stan checked his watch and looked to Fiddleford. "Don't let him leave until he's had at least three or four hours of sleep, I've got Halloween decorations to stea-- buy. I have to _buy_ them."

“Alrighty then, you have fun on yer trip!” Fiddleford said, giving a light wave. After Stan left, Fiddleford stretched out on the couch, facing Ford, slumped on the air mattress sitting up against the couch. "That thing can get a little flat after you toss and turn, so you might wake up on hard ground.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time…” Ford mumbled, half asleep already. He reached up to adjust the pillow under his head, giving a halfhearted attempt to fluff it up.

Fiddleford sighed, lazily dangling his long limbs off of the couch. "Get some rest, alright? I'll make you some lunch when you wake up." The tips of Fiddleford’s finger brushed against the back of Ford’s hand.

Ford gave another yawn and fluttered his eyes shut, finally dozing off. Ford's hand twitched at Fiddleford's touch, trying to decide if it was friend or foe. In a daze, Ford reached up, relieved when he felt wrinkles and small callouses rather than scales and claws, and grabbed onto Fiddleford’s hand.

Fiddleford gently squeezed Ford's large hand and smiled fondly, this was so intimate for the both of them, it was closer than they usually allowed themselves to be. When Ford flipped on his other side to get comfortable, he accidentally dragged Fiddleford with him, pulling him down on the air mattress with a light _thump_.

“Sorry… Didn’t mean to… make you fall…” Ford whispered, too tired to really hold down a conversation.

Fiddleford scooted a little closer to Ford and leaned his head against Ford's back. "I'm alright, I had a soft landing." Fiddleford’s hand was draped over Ford's side, and their hands were still latched together. Ford’s heart raced for a brief moment, before recalling through his sleepy haze that this was still Fiddleford, that he wouldn’t hurt him, and relaxed again, finally falling asleep. Fiddleford was at complete ease, the only way he could be even more comfortable would be if he wrapped all of his limbs around Ford like a baby koala. And as soon as Fiddleford dozed off along with Ford, his skinny leg hiked up over Ford's legs, gently nuzzling his cheek against Ford's back. Thankfully the act didn’t wake Ford. They slept for a few hours like that, entwined together and completely unconscious.

The novelty of eating lunch on the roof had worn off weeks ago. It was exactly the same as a normal cafeteria to Dipper: crowded enough to make his skin crawl, smelly enough to make him want to vomit if he so much as looked at another slice of what passed for pizza at a school, and so noisy he could barely think of anything other than his own headache. He tapped his foot nervously, itching to get rid of his nervous energy.

Mabel, however, seemed to be enjoying lunch as usual, chatting it up with Pacifica and the crowd of other girls at their table.

Pacifica traded her fancy dessert to Mabel for a Little Debbie, something she'd never had before. As she delicately unwrapped it, she addressed Dipper and Mabel. "What did you guys do last night? My parents dragged me to the country club, and I asked to bring you, but they said I couldn't have any guests..."

"Oh man! I hope it wasn't too boring! I was knitting some sweaters for Mr. McGucket last night, and I watched Ducktective with Waddles. Dipper... What were you doing last night? You and Grunkle Ford came home really late."

“ _Nothing_ , Mabel.” Dipper said, head down, glaring at his lunch. “We just did some science stuff, you wouldn’t get it.”

Mabel huffed and sipped her juice box. "You never tell me about _science stuff_. What kind of science? Maybe I'd be interested in it!"

“Just _drop it_ , Mabel.” Dipper hissed, hunching over on himself, the collar of his vest rising above his neck making him look like a hunchback.

The table fell silent and Mabel crossed her arms. After a while Pacifica cleared her throat. "Well... All of that was probably more interesting than my night."

"We'll never know, because Secret McSciencePants over here doesn't want to talk about anything."

“Well maybe there’s a reason for that, Ms.… Ms. I Always Make Fun of Dipper!” Dipper snapped.

"I'm just teasing you, Dipper! I just wanna know about your day, why are you so defensive?"

“Because I don’t want to talk about it!” Dipper said, standing up.

Mabel stood up too, leaning over the table to shout back at him, "Fine, shut me out, I'm your _only friend!_ " Mabel's eyes went wide when she realized what she just said.

“ _I’m leaving_.” Dipper spat, grabbing his lunch and storming away from the table, trying his best to hide the tears forming behind his eyes.

Mabel called out as Dipper ran off, "Dipper! It’s not true, I didn't mean that!" She sat back down and covered her face with her hands, feeling the hot sting of tears behind her eyes. "I'm sorry..."

Pacifica frowned and patted Mabel's back gently. "Wow...are you guys okay? That was really harsh." She paused, glancing at her own friends eating in stunned silence. “And that’s coming from me.”

Dipper pushed through the double doors leading into the school, practically running down the stairs. _Mabel is right, I don’t have any other friends, but I don’t want to talk about it and I don’t know how to make her stop pushing it_ , he thought, rounding the corner of the hallways, heading towards the gym. He stopped just outside Coach Berkley’s office,taking a deep breath before steeling his resolve and knocking on the door.

Coach Berkley opened the door with half of his sandwich in his mouth, and almost choked when he saw Dipper nearly in tears. "Dipper, what's wrong? Come in, take a seat."

“...I don’t want to talk about it…” Dipper said, fidgeting with his sack lunch. “...Can I just eat in here with you?”

“Of course you can, Dipper.” Berkley said, pulling up a fold out chair for Dipper.

Berkley didn't try to make Dipper talk about what was wrong, and was content with eating in silence at his desk and looking over some school paperwork. The only thing that broke the silence was rustling papers, and Dipper’s small sniffles.

 Ford hadn’t dreamt, hadn’t tossed and turned. In fact, he’d slept better than he had in _years_. It took a second for Ford to realize this when his eyes blinked open some five hours after he’d closed them last. Fiddleford was still tangled up with Ford, blissfully half asleep. When he felt Ford stir, Fiddleford gently pulled away and sat up, stretching his limbs out and yawning loudly.

“You sleep well, Stanford?” He asked.

Ford sat up on the mattress, staring at Fiddleford for a second, before reaching out and pulling him into a bear hug, nearly tackling him.

“...I _did_ … Thank you.” Ford said, squeezing Fiddleford tight, a smile on his face.

Fiddleford made a little noise in surprise, almost a squeak, and hugged Ford back. "You're welcome, Stanford... I'm glad you feel better.” Fiddleford sweetly patted Ford's back as they embraced.

“I’m sorry I had to postpone our date, Fidds.” Ford said without pulling away.

Fiddleford snuggled up closer, squeezing Ford tight, "It's alright. We got to spend our time together just now, even though we were just sleepin'. It was nice."

“This was nice, but… I think I’d like to take you on a proper date.” Ford said.

Fiddleford blushed and pulled away, smiling, "Shucks, Stanford, you don't have to do that… but I reckon I would enjoy a proper date."

“Well, we could go to…” Ford’s face fell. “...I-I actually don’t… really know anywhere we could go… Besides the school and the convenience store…” He said, scratching the back of his head.

"It doesn't matter to me where we go. We can stay in if you'd like. Just havin' a good time with you is enough fer me." Fiddleford smiled and softly squeezed one of Ford's hands.

“How about… A picnic? I can hunt something down... cook it over a fire?” Ford asked. “I haven’t really done this in a while, would that be okay?”

"That sounds lovely, Stanford. I would really like that. How does tomorrow sound?" Fiddleford pulled Ford into another big hug.

“Tomorrow sounds great.”

Stan came down the hallway carrying a stack of boxes in his arms, and peered into Ford's room. He quickly looked away and cleared his throat. "Don't mean to interrupt you two, but I need help with some boxes and the kids aren't home yet."

“Oh my god, Stan, we weren’t--” Ford stammered. “You _know_ I don’t-- _We’re both fully dressed, Stan._ ”

"I don't care, I don't wanna know, just get up and help me." Stan stifled a smile. Ford was obviously well rested, and he looked much happier than Stan had seen him since he’d gotten back.

Fiddleford scuttled away from Ford to give him some space and hopped back up on the couch. Ford rolled off of the air mattress and stood up. "I'll be right there to help." He said, running his fingers through his hair.

Stanley waited outside with by his car, pulling boxes stuffed with Halloween decorations and props out and setting them down on the ground. His knees cracked in protest, but he ignored it, pressing on as long as he could, ignoring the sound of autumn leaves crunching beneath his feet.

He liked Summerween better.

No biting chill, driving up the cost for the heater, still in the dead of tourist season, so he didn’t have to go all out trying to drain every penny from his customer’s wallets. He’d been ecstatic to learn that there was a warmer version of the holiday in Gravity Falls.

As soon as Ford showed up, Stan pushed a box into his hands. "I need you to carry these to the gift shop. You don't know how much haggling I've done all day to get this crap for a reasonable price."

“Alright.” Ford gave a curt nod. “...So, what’s Halloween like, these days?”

"A bunch of brats expecting free handouts, overpriced fake blood, and the last round of suckers I can grab before the winter. Halloween is the last day the Mystery Shack is open for the year, and I drive up the prices, make the house look scary, and charge kids some cash to get into a Halloween party on a real _haunted house_. Let’s just say your nerdy experiments started up some rumors that really drove up interest in this place, about spookums and demon--" Stan stopped short, freezing in his tracks and nearly dropping the box of plastic spiders he’d been carrying. He stared at Ford, trying to gauge his reaction.

Ford swallowed a lump in his throat, his feet shifting ever so slightly into a fighting stance, the leaves crunching underneath the soles of his boots. He shifted the box in his hands, trying to keep it aloft, taking deep breaths, trying to keep himself calm. _That was thirty years ago, Stanford, you’re past it now, everything will be fine. Just focus on your intellect and you'll be fine._

“Sixer, I’m sorry,” Stan said, softly.

Ford dropped his box and tiny plastic ghosts spilled out onto the lawn. The nickname made his skin crawl, every hair on his neck was standing on end. For a second it was like he was _there_ , in the mindscape, trapped while Bill did horrible unspeakable things in Ford’s body. He scrambled backwards, towards the house _towards the barrier, I’ve got to get to the barrier_ , a hand flying up to where he knew a metal plate lay buried just beneath his skin, just to check if it was still there. His back hit the wall and he sunk to the ground,

"Ford! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that-- Ford, I'm not gonna hurt you!" Stan followed Ford, wincing when Ford’s back hit the wall with a _thud_ , pleading to him, his hands held up to show he had no intentions to attack. Ford jumped up, lunging at Stan, grabbing his shoulder with one hand, and pinning the other against Stan’s chest to keep him at a safe distance. Ford squinted, struggling to check Stan’s eyes against the afternoon sunlight, but thankfully he found no trace of Bill Cipher. He let out a sigh, leaning back against the house, and released Stan.

“Sorry, he just… He used to call me _that_.” Ford’s face contorted in anger. “ _Sixer_ , smart guy, IQ, _brainiac_ , I was so _stupid to_ \--” Ford’s voice cut short as he spun around, sending a fist into the wall of the house with a sickening _crack_. Not hard enough to damage the house, or break his hand, but hard enough to make his knuckles bleed. “Please… I’m sorry, please don’t call me that…”

Stan stepped back, allowing Ford to take out his rage on the house, vaguely recalling Ford saying something similar a few months ago, though Stan hadn’t put together what he’d meant until now. Stan took a look at Ford's bloodied hand and sighed. "Ford... I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I won't call you that anymore. We should wrap this, or it's gonna get gross and infected."

“He _knew_ what that name meant to me, and he used it against me…” Ford muttered, clutching his injured hand.

Stan took Ford’s hand in his own for a closer look. "These boxes can wait for later. Let's get you inside and doctor you up. Maybe talk about this nickname thing." Stan said, gently guiding Ford inside.

Stan sat Ford down in the living room, giving him a worried glance and a small smile before going to grab a first aid kit from the bathroom. Their dingy old kit consisted of a box of brightly colored band aids, some old gauze, peroxide, and some expired cold medicines, but it would have to do. "Ford… look, I really didn't mean to get you upset." Stan said, kneeling down next to the easy chair in the living room where Ford was sitting, and dabbed the peroxide on Fords knuckles with a cotton ball.

“I know.” Ford said. “I know you didn’t. It wasn’t your fault.” He paused, furrowing his brow when Stan started dabbing his knuckles. “I can patch myself up, Stan, you don’t have to…”

"You used to do this for me when we were kids, I'm returning the favor." Stan responded, and looked through the neon band aids Mabel had picked out to see if there were ones big enough to cover Ford's knuckles.

“Remember when you used to go running around the house with a bucket on your head?” Ford said, chuckling a bit. “And one time you hit the wall so hard you left a hole in it?”

"How could I forget? Dad used the belt on me pretty damn hard. I remember you tried to stop him... You always looked out for me." Stan stared off at the box of band aids while he spoke, his smile fading into a pensive frown.

Ford gently grabbed the box from Stan’s hands, fishing out a few bandages at random. “And you always looked out for me…” Ford sighed. “Maybe if I’d pulled my head out of my ass all those years ago and called you, I’d have never read that stupid inscription.”

"Well, I wouldn’t have let him hurt you, that’s for damn sure. But people make mistakes, Ford, it doesn't make us bad people. Or else I'd probably be the worst of the worst." Stan chuckled dryly and helped apply the bright purple bandages.

“Hey, _I’m_ the one who nearly caused the apocalypse.” Ford said. “...The same apocalypse that’s keeping Sherman and Alexandria from coming back…”

"Ford, you can't make that your fault, because it's not. Life is shitty and there's nothing we can do about it."

“We should have asked that Blendin guy to just go back in time and stop me from summoning Cipher, so we could get the kid’s parents back.” Ford said, ignoring Stan. “...Actually, no, then he’d just find some other sap to mess with…”

"If there's something I've learned over the years... Dwelling on your past just makes you feel shitty, so it's pointless. You have to focus on somethin' worth your time. Like family."

“Don’t you get it, Stan? I _can’t_. I can’t focus on that, I can barely focus on _anything_! I’m fucking slipping away all over again, and I’ve only got _myself_ to blame for it! I’m _barely_ functional, hell, just this morning I needed you to come _get me_ before I worked myself to exhaustion! I almost teared up because I had _a solid five hours of sleep_ , fuck, I still freak out over every goddamned thing! And to top it all off, I watched the _life drain_ from my niece and nephew’s eyes, and I’m watching the repercussions of their deaths destroy myself, my remaining sanity, and _everyone I care about_! And everything, the reason I can’t get help, their deaths, the reason they can’t come back, the goddamn apocalypse, is _because of me._ It’s. _Hopeless._ I’m _hopeless._ I can’t do this anymore, Stan.”

“Yes you can, you _have to_. But not alone, Ford. You gotta let someone help you. Me, the kids, Fiddleford. Hell, a _shrink_ , even if they don’t believe a word you say about paranormal bullshit like Alexandria would’ve, would be better than nothing." Stan sighed. “Believe me, it’s hard as hell getting through this kind of thing with _nothing_ …”

Ford was silent, he hung his head, burying his face in the palms of his hands.

“This isn’t your _fault_ , Ford…” Stan said. “The apocalypse, Sherman and Alexandria, whatever that Cipher guy did… It’s not your fault… You’re not a hopeless case, Ford.”

Ford looked up at Stan, at the genuine care in Stan’s eyes, and something clicked in his brain. “...You know what? I’m starting to think… You might be _right_.” Ford stood up, making Stan jump back a little. “Cause you know what? Bill took so goddamn _much,_ from me, from _everyone_. He took my _mind_ , he took my _friends_ , he tried to take my _family_ , he took _Fiddleford_ , hell, he even took my way _home._ But you know what? I’m sure as hell not going to let him take my _mind_ again! I’m going to get through this, and fuck anyone who says otherwise!”

"Yeah?" Stan grinned, admiring Ford's newfound confidence and moxie. "So what're you gonna do?" Stan stood up with the first aid kit in his arms.

“I… have no idea!” Ford said, his face falling. “Lord only knows how far psychology’s progressed in the past thirty years, but you said it yourself, finding a therapist who’ll believe me about the paranormal won’t be easy… I might have to go capture a pigmy dragon and bring it in with me.”

Stan laughed at the image of Ford showing up for therapy with a tiny fucking dragon in a cage. "Whatever the hell works.” Stan paused. “But maybe let’s _not_ bring dangerous fire breathing lizards into a therapist’s office… They've got pills for all kinds of stuff nowadays, so, uh, you should probably start with that… They'll have something to help you." He placed a hand on Ford's shoulder and gave him a genuine smile. "You're gonna get through this, Ford, you're tough. You can't give up so easy, okay?”

Ford wrapped his arms around Stanley’s torso, burying his face in the crook of Stan’s shoulder. Ford was shaking a little, but there was a tiny smile across his face. “...Thank you, Stanley.”

Stan dropped the first aid kit to hug Ford back, squeezing him in a big bear hug. "No problem, Ford. It's what family does." Stan held Ford through his shivers and gave him the occasional sibling _pat pat_. "Don't punch the house anymore, alright? I’ve grown to like it the past thirty years."

“I won’t… And no more late nights for me, either.” Ford frowned a bit. “Sleeping's difficult, but I'll just have to get through it." He said, hugging Stan tighter.

The kids burst through the door, tracking leaves and mud into the house, in a heated argument, causing Ford to jump at the noise.

"We're not little kids, Mabel, I don't have to tell you _everything._ I'm allowed to have some freakin privacy!" Dipper's arms were crossed as they entered the house.

"You don't have to be such a jerk about it! You came back from that stupid ghost hunt all freaked out, if you told me, invited me along, I could have helped! I would have done the stupid Lamby dance for them." Mabel retaliated, her hands on her hips in frustration.

" _Take that back!_ Don't talk about that!" Dipper shouted right in his sister's face.

“Dipper, no swearing. Mabel, let him talk when he wants to talk.” Stan said, furrowing his brow.

They both started shouting at the same time, something along the lines of _he never includes me anymore, he's always angry or upset. Why should I be nice to him?_ and _She's always in my business, I can handle myself, I don't need my sister following me around all the time!_ Stan and Ford shared a glance, before they each grabbed a twin and carried them to opposite ends of the house, Stan with Dipper and Ford with Mabel. Both of the twins gasped when they were picked up, and gave each other dirty glares until they were out of each other's sights.

Stan hoisted Dipper over his shoulder when he started squirming, carrying Dipper to his office "Stan, put me down, I can walk!" Dipper protested and kicked his little legs.

“Yeah, but if I put you down, then you’ll run away.” Stan said, setting Dipper down on a chair in his office. “Alright, what are you and Mabel fightin’ about?”

"She keeps nagging me about last night. She's mad because I didn't take her with me and Ford to the convenience store. She didn’t even want to go in the first place! She’d have gotten bored, or _hurt_ , or _something_ , and she would be complaining about it either way! She's trying to guilt me into hanging out with her! She’s not… She’s not my _only_ friend..."

“No, you’ve got plenty of friends besides Mabel.” Stan said. “But kid, did you ever think that maybe she’s feeling guilty about how upset you were--”

“I wasn’t _upset_!” Dipper clenched his fists and looked down at his feet. "I was tired, but I was _fine_. I don't need her to worry about me."

“Dipper, she’s just looking out for you. Look, we all _know_ something happened at the Dusk 2 Dawn. We don’t know _what_ , cause you and Ford haven’t told us, but we know something happened. It’s alright to be upset about it. Mabel just wants to help, even if she’s not the best at it. She cares about you, kid.”

Dipper slouched in his chair and relaxed his hands. Guilt consumed him, he'd been the jerk here, not Mabel. He was the one pushing her away. He couldn't even control his emotions enough to ignore Mabel's comments anymore. He was having panic attacks, lashing out at his family. _I'm losing it,_ Dipper thought, tensing up once more.

“Dipper?” Stan said, putting a hand on Dipper’s shoulder. “You doing okay there?”

Dipper jumped at the touch and focused back on reality. "Wha--? Yeah! I'm... I'm fine. I should probably apologize to Mabel... I was a jerk."

“Well… to be fair she was pushing you to talk about something before you were ready, and it sounds like she said some things to make you more upset than you were in the first place. You both should apologize to _each other_." Stan said. “You can hash it out after you’ve both cooled down.”

Mabel sat on the counter in the gift shop, swinging her legs and looking down at her lap as Ford spoke, "Mabel, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings by not inviting you last evening. I was planning on going alone in the first place, but your brother was adamant about helping me. Besides, wasn’t it you who said ‘count me out’ on account of the expired candy and a possession induced crick in your neck?"

"Yeah, but I mean-- You know! Dipper leaves me out of this stuff. He never tells me anything anymore, he was freaking out last night and usually, I would help him calm down! When I got him to our room he didn't want to talk, or tell me anything!" Mabel spoke over the speed limit, frustrated and flustered.

Ford sighed. “Mabel… I know you just want to help, and I know that what Dipper needs is someone to talk to, but… sometimes when someone is feeling… _upset_ … they just don’t want to talk about it. It doesn’t mean that they’ll _never_ talk about it, and it doesn’t mean that they don’t want to be around you anymore. But pushing people to talk about things and experiences when they’re not ready usually just makes things worse. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

"I guess so... But it's like we aren't friends anymore. He hasn't even helped me with our Halloween costumes for this year. He used to love doing stuff with me. He thinks he's so grown up, but he's not."

“...Have you told him any of that?” Ford asked, running his fingers through his hair.

"Well... No. I haven't. I don't wanna fight with him, Grunkle Ford. I just wanna be friends with him again."

Ford slowly pulled Mabel into a hug. “Mabel, Dipper _adores_ you. He’s not always the best at showing it, and that’s at least partially my fault… But he does care about you.”

Mabel hugged Ford back with all of her might and spoke into his sweater, "Do you still love Grunkle Stan?"

“Of course I do, Mabel.” Ford said. “It’s… It’s slow going but we’re finally putting things back together again.”

Mabel pulled away and wiped her watery eyes. "Do you think Dipper and I are gonna fight like you and Stan? I don't want to."

“No, no I don’t think so.” Ford said. “What happened with me and Stan was… complicated…” Ford paused. “Listen, Mabel, I’m going to tell you something important, that I want you to _never_ forget. I think after what happened a few weeks ago you’re old enough to hear this, okay?”

“Oh no, is there a _second_ puberty?” Mabel gasped, her hand clutching at her heart in shock.

“Uh, _no_.” Ford paused. “...Sometimes people you care about do… bad things in order to try to control you. Like, isolating you from you family and friends, or make you feel guilty for things that aren't your fault. It’s awful, and horrible, and sometimes you don’t always catch it… You have to learn the difference between people who manipulate, and people who genuinely have your best interest at heart. Confusing the two can be extremely dangerous, and a lot of people, including myself, make mistakes. And a long time ago, I thought Stan was one of those jerks... and I thought someone who actually _was_ a jerk had my best interests in mind."

Mabel listened carefully, nodding while Ford spoke, "So... I should watch out for jerks. And Dipper wasn't the jerk here, _I_ was... I said some things that weren’t true, and that I didn’t mean… I should tell him I'm sorry."

"Well, yes. But he also shouldn't have yelled at you, and he is hurting your feelings by pushing you away so much without telling you why. I think you two will be fine after you've _both_ cooled down, and talked things out in the morning-- Or in your own words, 'Hug It Out'." Ford smiled a little and ruffled Mabel's cropped hair.

Mabel hopped down from the register counter and gave Ford a quick hug. "Thanks, Grunkle Ford.”

“You’re… You’re welcome, Mabel.” Ford said. With that, Mabel ran off to search for Dipper. Ford paused, glancing out the window. The setting sun cast pale shadows across the forgotten Halloween decorations by Stan’s car, and with a small smile, Ford walked outside to finish moving them into the Shack.

Dipper sat on his bed in the attic with homework in his lap, idly chewing on a pen cap. He was far too concerned with other things to actually do any assignments, but having the work out in front of him made Dipper feel smarter, more productive. _Maybe if I pretend I’m helping Ford with his research I’ll actually be able to get it done... Wait... how am I going to relate geometry to paranormal research...?_

Mabel tapped on the door and poked her head in the room, "Heeeey... Dipper. You're probably busy, but can we talk? I have something I wanna say."

Dipper looked up from his homework, scrambling to close the book once he realized it was Mabel. “Um… sure. But… I have something I wanna say, too…”

Mabel sat down on her bed, across the room from Dipper, and picked up her knitting needles. She felt nervous, and needed to keep her hands busy. As she fidgeted with the yarn, she spoke, "I'm sorry about earlier today… at lunch and in the living room. I was being a really big jerk, and I shouldn't have pushed you to talk about stuff you didn't wanna talk about. I just want you to know that you don't have to hide stuff from me. You're my best friend, brobro.” She paused, remembering what Ford had told her about his fight with Stan. “And I’m _not_ your only friend. You’ve still got Jason, even if he is still living back home… You’ve got Pacifica, and Candy and Grenda, and Multibear and Coach Berkley… And you’ve got Wendy and Soos…even Thompson! I’m sorry if I made you feel like crap.”

“... It’s okay.” Dipper said, bringing his knees up to his chest. “I’m sorry for… for snapping at you, and for pushing you away. I… I _do_ still want to be best friends! Really. I just… I just don’t want to talk about some things, and I don’t mean to keep secrets, I feel like sometimes I can’t have things that are just... I don’t know, mine? I guess? I know you just wanted to help, e-even if it didn’t work…”

"No! I was totally nosy. I worry a lot about you, Dipper. I just want you to be okay." Mabel moved from her bed over to Dipper's, sitting at the foot of his bed and crisscrossing her legs. "But if you don’t want to talk… then I shouldn’t force you to. I don’t want to make things _worse_ … Just tell me when you’re ready, or tell _somebody_... I love you, brobro. I just wanna be like we used to be."

“I love you too, Mabel.” Dipper said. “Everything’s so messed up now… I wanna be like we used to be, too.”

"Can we hug it out?" Mabel opened her arms and smiled wide.

“Yeah, let’s hug it out.” Dipper said, giving a tiny smile.

Mabel and Dipper embraced and squeezed each other, and gave each other slaps on the back with a unison, " _PAT PAT,"_ making both of them laugh.

Stan sighed, cracking his back, and walked back towards the gift shop. Between Ford and the kids, the Halloween decorations had likely gone forgotten, and he’d have to be the one to move them all inside. Stan stopped by the kitchen, greeting Fiddleford, who was working on the laptop again, and grabbed a soda, chugging half the can by the time he got to the gift shop. He stopped to flick on the light, and stopped short.

Ford had already moved most of the boxes inside.

The door handle jiggled, and Stan could have sworn he heard muffled cursing from the other side, before Ford tumbled through the doorway, carrying two large boxes, and fell on the floor, scattering Halloween decorations everywhere.

“Fu-- Fool’s paradise!” Ford screamed.

“Your fake swears are terrible.”  Stan offered his hand to Ford, helping his brother back onto his feet.

“Yeah, I know.” Ford huffed, before grabbing Stan’s hand. “Thanks.”

"Yeah, sure. Why don't you help me pick up all this crap and we'll call ourselves even?"

Ford gave a curt nod, and set to picking up the fake spider webs and false vampire fangs he’d spilled. “So… Do you think Dipper and Mabel worked it out?”

“Huh? Yeah… Yeah I’m sure they’re fine.” Stan said. “You’ve, uh, you’ve given any thought on what you wanna do? About all that stuff in your head, I mean.”

Ford sighed, idly threading a piece of the fake spider web through his fingers. “I don’t know. Everything’s changed so much, I’m not sure where to start.”

"Well... I can get you in to see a doctor. I know I’ve been using your name for a while, but I haven’t exactly been to the doctor’s office _often_. So you can probably get all of the medicine you want. I can call around and find someone who deals with head stuff, get you some pills to make you feel better, maybe find someone you can talk to?"

“I think… I think I’d like to just start on the pills, and find a therapist as a last resort.” Ford said after a long moment. “I don’t want to risk a misdiagnosis because of all the supernatural things I’ve dealt with. Someone could _easily_ mistake those for hallucinations or worse…”

"Just be vague about the specifics and tell the guy your symptoms. Like the time I broke my arm, but I didn't tell mom and dad it was because I jumped down onto the fire escape from the roof."

“Oh god, I remember that. You scared me half to death." Ford said.

Stan shrugged and sipped on his can of soda, "That was nothin'. Remember the time those snotty bullies were chasing us after school, and you tripped on your shoelace, right onto the concrete, and they nearly caught you I had to drag you the rest of the way home? That was terrifying."

Neither of them dared acknowledge that moment from thirty years ago, the way Stan’s ribs had felt through the sole of Ford’s boot, the way Stan had screamed, smoke rising from a mark on his shoulder that would never fade. Neither of them acknowledged the way Ford’s coat fluttered when he’d fallen back, being tugged into the portal, flailing and screaming for help, terror in his throat, with one final desperate plea the last thing he’d say in this world for thirty years. Ford slowly wrapped Stan in another hug, squeezing him tight, afraid to let go. Stan hugged back, knowing he and Ford were thinking about the same exact thing.

Stan pulled away first and checked his watch. "I have lots of things to do tomorrow, including finding you a doctor, so... Goodnight, Ford."

“I ought to turn in myself…” Ford said. “Goodnight, Stanley.”

The two of them awkwardly parted ways in the same direction until Ford turned to go to his room, and Stan turned to go to his.  Ford couldn’t help but think that something was off about the whole situation. He’d apologized, they’d made up, things were supposed to be better between them. _And they are,_ Ford reminded himself, _this is a far cry from where we were a few months ago_ , but there was a sneaking undertone with every conversation, something that Ford couldn’t quite put his finger on.

When Ford returned to his bedroom, he found Fiddleford sitting on the floor, looking through a box full of old belongings for parts. At the bottom of the box, there were dusty, long unused vinyl records from Ford's late college years. Fiddleford pulled them out to inspect them, smiling fondly. _BABBA, The Eagles, Fleetwood Mac..._

"What do you have there, Fidds?" Ford sat down on the sofa and looked over Fiddleford's shoulder at the records. He couldn't remember the last time he really listened to music.

"I was looking for a thingamabob to use on the computer, and I found these. Didn't I used to play these for you? I remember sittin' in the dorms with a borrowed record player, and I saved up to buy some album, and I wanted to listen to it with you."

Ford took _Rumors_ from Fiddleford and dusted off the old cover. "Yes, I think you bought most of these, actually. When we hit snags in our research, you'd make me rest for a while and play some music. I found a lot of answers after listening to some of these. I think I still have a record player somewhere in this house, I wonder if these will still play?"

Fiddleford pulled out an old single by Elvin Bishop and gently slid the record out of its sleeve. He inspected it for scratches, it looked like it was in good condition. "I reckon you could still get some use out of 'em. I remember this one..." Fiddleford hummed the bluesy and familiar tune. Ford remembered Fiddleford singing in the lab, his twangy voice was strangely dreamy, and _Fooled Around And Fell In Love_ was an old favorite.

Fiddleford stood and continued to hum softly, searching for a record player in their cluttered room. Ford stood and took one of Fiddleford's hands. "Didn't we used to dance to that one?"

Fiddleford paused for a moment, brow furrowed in concentration, before a sly smile spread across his face. “Ya know, Stanford? I reckon we did.” He said, gently grabbing Ford’s other hand.

Ford smiled back and started to awkwardly sway with Fiddleford, who continued to hum the tune. Their dancing wasn't much better than it had been in the seventies, and they nearly tripped over the air mattress on the floor several times, but it made both of their hearts race all the same. Fiddleford rested his head on Stanford's chest and the humming faded, until eventually they stood still and held each other. Ford tensed when Fiddleford’s head rested too close to his heart, but he didn’t let go. He slowly wrapped his arms around Fiddleford’s shoulders, and opened his mouth to say something.

_Creak._

Ford froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. “Fidds…” He whispered. “No one else should be awake this late. Something’s in the house. Stay here, I’m going to check it out.”

Fiddleford pulled away and gasped. "Be careful, Stanford. If it's a raccoon... Please don't shoot."

“I-I… won’t?” Ford said, readying his pistol. “I can’t believe I’m starting to get jealous of a raccoon…” He muttered before sneaking out the door.

Dipper cursed under his breath as he tripped over his own feet and dropped his backpack, making much more noise than intended. It was too late to be up, and definitely too late to get caught sneaking out. Suddenly, he felt himself tumbling forward, a presence had curled around him, and a hand flew over his mouth.

“ _Dipper, shh, it’s me. There’s something in the house, just stay quiet and stay behind me._ ” Ford whispered, holding Dipper with one hand and a pistol in the other.

“Holy sh-- Great Uncle Ford don’t scare me like that!” Dipper said, squirming.

Ford released Dipper from his grip and sheathed his weapon.  He eyed the snacks and old BABBA CD’s scattered on the floor. "Dipper, what are you doing sneaking around the house at this hour?"

“I-I was… I was… Going to the bathroom.”

“Dipper, I grew up with _Stanley_. You’re going to have to be a better liar than that.” Ford said, his hands on his hips.

"I...um-- Well you see, it’s actually a _really funny_ story... There was this manliness machine... And pancakes, and then this Manataur--” Dipper rambled until he was cut off.

“Oh my god, you ran into a _Manataur?!_ ” Ford said, just barely keeping his voice low enough to not wake anyone else. “And _lived_?! They’re extremely brutish, dangerous creatures! I can’t tell you how many times I’ve nearly been killed by them!”

"Well, you see, they sort of took me under their wing and tried to make me a man, but when I wouldn't complete the final trial, they kind of kicked me out. But that's okay, because, the Multibear they tried to make me kill was actually a really cool guy."

“...Okay. Two questions. What’s a Multibear and what does this story have to do with anything?” Ford said.

"Multibear is this giant bear with like, seven heads, and the Manataurs tried to get me to kill him, but he was really cool, and nice, and sometimes I go to his cave and we just talk and listen to BABBA. I just... He listens to me, and he doesn't judge me and I wanted to talk to someone who wasn't Mabel. I know she means well, but... She doesn't really understand.” Dipper said, fidgeting with his vest. “I’ll… I’ll go back to the attic.” He said with a defeated sigh.

“...Dipper if you want to go see this Multibear fellow, you can.” Ford said, kneeling down and putting Dipper’s stuff back into his backpack. “But I’m coming with you. And you should probably wait to leave until I’ve told Fiddleford where we’re going. The woods are dangerous at night, Dipper.”

Dipper took his backpack from Ford and held it to his chest. "I know my way, Grunkle Ford... I've done this before." He admitted.

“I’m sure you have. And I’m sure you’d do a great job protecting yourself if you were ever in danger. But Dipper, you’ve got to understand that as your Uncle, I can’t let you go out into the woods, alone, at night, to meet with someone who is a _bear with seven heads_ ,that I’ve never met.” Ford said. “...I know it’s important that you talk to someone, so I’m not going to stop you. _But_ , if you do go, you’ll be going with me.”

Dipper sighed and threw his backpack on, holding onto the straps. "Okay. Let's go before we wake everyone else up." Ford gave a curt nod, and poked his head into his room to tell Fiddleford he’d be stepping outside for a bit. Fiddleford gave a small wave and held the stack of records in his arms as Ford left.

The night sky was cloudy, not a single star in sight, but Dipper luckily knew the way by heart. Ford followed behind him, his footsteps quieter despite his heavy boots, with his a hand on his pistol, ready to draw should something attack them. Dipper lit his path with a flashlight and easily navigated his way through the trees, until they approached a large hill with a cave at the peak.

“So this guy lives up there? In a cave, with only one exit?” Ford asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes? He's a bear, Great Uncle Ford." Dipper began to climb the hill without pacing himself, too anxious to reach the top, and the loss of breath was worth the familiar feeling of the rock entrance to the cave.

Ford frowned a bit, he’d kind of liked when Dipper called him ‘Grunkle’ earlier. He pressed on, following Dipper up the hill with ease, keeping an even distance from him so he could lead the way. Luckily Dipper had the sense to wait for Ford just outside the entrance to the cave.

Once Ford made it up the hill, Dipper flashed his flashlight quickly into the mouth of the cave, spelling out _Disco Girl_ in Morse code.  A gigantic bear with multiple heads peered out of the cave and spoke with warmth in its voice, "Dipper the Warrior! Who is this you've brought to my dwelling?”

“Multibear, this is the author of the Journals, my weird overprotective Uncle.” Dipper said, gesturing to Ford.

Ford cleared his throat. “Stanford Pines. I am one of Dipper’s guardians, and he’s been sneaking off to visit you without notifying us. I’m sure you’d understand why I can’t let my thirteen year old nephew into the woods at night to visit someone I’ve never met.” He said. “I come armed. If you hurt him, I _will_ hurt you back.”

Multibear’s heads inspected Ford, over a dozen eyes reflecting in the light of Dipper’s flashlight. “Yes, it has been several months since Dipper’s last visit, but he did speak of the Journals and his quest to find their author. He holds you in high regard.” Multibear paused, lumbering closer. Ford stood his ground, puffing out his chest a little, ready to defend Dipper if necessary. “I can see that you only seek to protect your cub. Being a bear, it would be hypocritical of me to criticize you for going through such lengths.”

Dipper pulled some CD's out of his backpack. "I brought BABBA's deluxe edition of _Departure_." He said. “And a few snacks.”

“That sounds like a fine way to spend the evening, young Warrior. And I’m assuming you will be joining us, Author of the Journals?” One of Multibear’s heads nuzzled against Dipper’s cheek, leading him over to where they’d set up a fire pit for these occasions.

"I will. I'm not so sure I'm ready to leave my… _cub_ alone this late in the evening.” Ford said. “And perhaps you can tell me the exact nature of your friendship with Dipper.”

"Please, make yourself comfortable." Multibear curled up in front of the fire pit as Dipper started building a very impressive fire.

“So Dipper tells me that you don’t get on well with the Manataurs. A while back it seems he was recruited by them, and told to kill you, though obviously you convinced Dipper not to. How _exactly_ did you manage that?”

“Oh, well you see, Dipper bested me in combat.” Multibear explained, one of his heads grunting in agreement. “Then we played Disco Girl over my boom box over there, and he showed mercy.”

“...Dipper, you could have mentioned that you beat this guy in a fight.” Ford said.

“You wouldn’t have believed me.” Dipper sat down in front of the fire he created and leaned against an old sofa cushion he had dragged from the Shack to the cave over the summer.

“Of course I would have believed you, Dipper.” Ford said, taking a seat on the cave floor next to Dipper.

"Something seems to be troubling you, Dipper. Would you like to discuss it?" Multibear scooted himself closer to Dipper to keep him warm.

Dipper sighed, glancing between Ford and Multibear. "I don't know. I told you that I would be leaving at the end of the summer, but I'm living here now. My parents…” Dipper sighed, hugging his knees. “My parents died. So Mabel and I are living with Ford and Grunkle Stan now. And it’s been really hard without my Mom and Dad, and starting a new school, I feel really overwhelmed really easily. I want to be alone to sort out my thoughts, but being alone makes it worse, I replay bad memories in my head and I can't focus. I'm just… I'm all mixed up." Dipper leaned against Multibear and nestled into his fur, next to one of Multibear’s heads.

“I’m sorry about your loss, Dipper.” Multibear said. “What you are feeling is grief. It will hurt, and it will likely hurt you for a very long while. But you will come through it, young Warrior. You are strong, perhaps stronger than you realize. In the meantime, I will be here to act as your counsel, and I’m sure your uncles and sister are there for you as well.” Multibear paused. “You mentioned feeling overwhelmed, and becoming so consumed with bad memories you’re unable to focus on much else. These are signs of grief, yes, but they are also signs that something larger is troubling you. Has that demon begun attacking once more?”

Dipper shook his head, "No. Ford put up a barrier around our house to protect us, and we haven't had trouble from Bill since then. I think it’s just me. I feel like a coward for being scared of him, but even when my friends accidentally remind me of him I-I just… I _panic_. And I don’t know _why_.” He pulled his knees to his chest and rested his chin on his kneecaps. "I don't know why I can't handle things like someone _normal_."

“Dipper, you’re not a coward for being scared.” Ford said. “You’re brave, Dipper. And I don’t think you realize how many times I look at you and wish I’d been more like you when I was your age.” He sighed. “... _I_ get scared of Bill sometimes. More often than I’d care to admit.”

“...Not like this, Great Uncle Ford. You don’t run out of gym class when the coach accidentally calls you Pine Tree.” Dipper said, staring at the flames.

“Well no…” Ford paused, unsure if he should be telling Dipper this. “But I did run away when Stanley called me Sixer this afternoon. I was terrified, even though I _knew_ Bill couldn’t possess Stanley because of the barrier. You’re not alone in this, Dipper.”

Dipper looked up at Ford and relaxed his tensed up body. "Ford... What do you do when you're scared?"

“You know? For a long time, I pushed it down, kept it to myself, didn’t tell anyone, I just hurt whatever I thought was attacking me and moved on.” Ford scooted a bit closer to Dipper. “But then Stan saved me, and suddenly I was around people I cared about again, and I realized I couldn’t just keep ignoring the problem anymore. So you know what I did?” Ford put a hand on Dipper’s shoulder. “I did the same thing you’re doing now. I went to a _friend_ to talk about it, someone I trusted. And it… it really helped.”

Dipper leaned into Ford's touch, "I just don't want people to think I'm weak." Dipper said in a small voice.

“Dipper you fought a bear with seven heads. You _beat_ a bear with seven heads. And even if you hadn’t, Stan, Mabel, and I have _always_ thought you were strong.” Ford said, pulling Dipper closer.

"They make fun of me. They say they're just joking, but the two of them _always_ make fun of me. They don't take me seriously."

Ford tensed. He knew what Dipper was feeling all too well. “I’ll talk to them about it in the morning.” He said. “They love you, but they shouldn’t be joking about things that make you uncomfortable.”

Dipper nodded and yawned, relaxing between Ford and Multibear. “...Thanks, you guys. I… I actually do feel a little better.”

"This is what your allies are for, Dipper." Multibear gently nudged Dipper with a couple of his heads, having Dipper relax and use him as a pillow. “You may both rest here for the night, as always. I do enjoy our time spent together, young Warrior.”

"Good night, Multibear..." Dipper stretched his legs out on Ford's lap, and nestled his head against Multibear, "Goodnight, Grunkle Ford."

“Goodnight, Dipper…” Ford whispered. After a moment, he very carefully inched himself closer to Multibear, not quite allowing himself to touch his fur yet, but close enough to feel the breath from one of Multibear’s heads. “Multibear, I want to thank you for what you’ve done for Dipper.” He whispered, careful not to rouse his sleeping nephew.

"I am honored to call Dipper a friend. After he spared my life with such mercy, becoming acquainted with him is a privilege that I cherish." Multibear said.

“He’s a good kid… I meant it when I said I wish I’d been more like him.” Ford said. “And I’m sorry for acting harshly earlier.”

“Something is troubling you as well, Author.” One of Multibear’s heads gently nudged Ford’s elbow, causing him to flinch. For a moment, everything in the cave was silent, Ford and Multibear sat still as they waited to see if Dipper would wake. When he didn’t stir, Ford and Multibear let out a breath of air. “I am often Dipper’s counsel, though I would not mind being yours as well.”

“I… appreciate that, Multibear.” Ford said, keeping his voice low. “I’m just… I’m not sure if I’m really fit to look after Dipper and Mabel. I try my best but I don’t know anything about raising kids. I haven’t been in this dimension in thirty years, I barely know how _anything_ works anymore, and on top of that I’m _dangerous_. Dipper nearly lost his life last night because of me, and Mabel’s been put in danger as well. I know I’d kill to protect them, you saw some of that tonight. But when it comes to actually taking care of them? I feel like I should just leave that to my brother. Sometimes I can barely take care of myself, let alone two kids. And I _know_ Alexandria-- Sorry, Dipper’s mother. I know she knew that about me, so I can’t wrap my mind around why she’d trust me with taking care of her children.”

“A proper mother does not take the fate of her cubs lightly. Whether she knew something about you that you yourself don’t yet realize, or if she simply wanted closure before her death, I don't know." Multibear said, "To me, it is apparent that you care for these children. You clearly want to do right by them, if you didn't you would not have stood your ground against me. I believe you're doing your best simply by trying, and it is your dedication and protective instinct that mark you as a good caregiver. You mentioned that humans raise their young in pairs, and I do believe that's for the best among your kind. You must work _together_ with your brother if you want to succeed. You seem aware that you cannot raise them on your own, but I doubt your brother could raise them alone either."

Ford moved closer, trusting Multibear enough to lean against him with Dipper. "...Thank you, Multibear. Dipper was right about you. You really do understand."

A couple of Multibear's heads yawned and closed their eyes. "Dipper is wise for his age."

"He really is. As awful as it is about what happened, I'm glad I got to spend more time with him. With both of them, really." Ford said.

"Tragedy often brings loved ones together." Multibear said. "I once only had one head. I was a great and powerful spirit, guarding the deepest parts of the forest, as well as the bears who lived there, from humans. I protected my home for hundreds of years. Then... one day I failed. A mother bear had gotten caught in a hunter's trap, leaving behind her cubs." A few of Multibear's heads perked up at the mention of his story. "Bears do not adopt another's cubs, but I could not allow these two to starve. So I asked them if they would join with me, and they accepted my offer. Soon, more hunters came, and more cubs were orphaned, or injured, or worse. Eventually, though I still protect the forest, my old life as a great bear spirit was forgotten, and I became known as Multibear. But I would not trade my bear heads for anything in the world." A few other heads growled softly in agreeance, and rested against each other. "A long time ago, I would wonder if I had made the right decision, by refusing to accept nature's course, but I have since made peace with the past."

Ford was silent. Any magical beast's history, much less a _spirit's_ history, was not meant to be taken lightly, and Ford had to resist the urge to overstep his bounds and immediately catalogue this information in his journals, telling himself that he’d have to wait until later. "Thank you, for sharing your past." He said, reverence in his voice. "And thank you again for the kindness you've shown towards my family and I."

"Dipper has always shown me kindness, unlike humans I've encountered in the past. You and your clan are always welcome, and you have my protection." Multibear said, a few of his heads settling back down, preparing for sleep once again.

"In return," Ford whispered, careful not to rouse Dipper or the sleeping bear heads, "You have my word that you won't find any of us hunting in your forest. I'm afraid I can't do much to dissuade the other townsfolk, but anyone from my... clan won't harm a creature in your woods."

At this Multibear let out a soft chuckle. "You do not have to make such promises, Author. Bears are omnivores. To me, it matters not whether you hunt other creatures so long as it does not interfere with the lives of the bears. Leaving the bears and the trees themselves alone is all I can ask. Though, if you find you have hunted too much, you may bring a surplus to my cave so that I may safely feed any hungering bears in the forest. Please don’t go out trying to make peace with other bears. I might have the presence of mind to recognize you, but I cannot make the same promise for a regular bear."

"Then it's a deal, Multibear." Ford said as he relaxed further against the giant bear. Dipper cuddled up to Ford like a small child in his sleep, wrapping his arms around Ford's torso. Ford smiled a bit, gently placing an arm around Dipper's shoulder to keep him warm. Ford closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading! If you like it be sure to let us know and you can comment below if you have any questions about the fic! The next chapter will be up soon!  
> (lord-of-vaginas-and-time.tumblr.com and greenllamajeans.tumblr.com)


	14. Fleetwood Mac and Chill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 20-8-9-19 23-5-5-11 15-14 2-1-4-18-15 13-25 14-15-4-9-21-19  
> 24-1-14-20-1-19-1-18 1-14-4 2-1-18-2-1-18-1 1-18-5 2-1-3-11 20-15-7-5-20-8-5-18  
> 2-21-20 1-19 12-15-14-7 1-19 20-8-5-25'18-5 9-14 12-15-22-5, 26-15-23-12-1-14-24-1-18 23-15-14'20 18-5-19-20 21-14-20-9-12 19-8-5 4-5-22-15-21-18-19 24-1-14-20-1-19-1-18'19 6-12-5-19-8 1-14-4 23-5-1-18-19 8-9-19 8-9-4-5 1-19 1 3-12-15-1-11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Animal death in this chapter, a violent flashback, and a brief mentioning of cannibalism! Other than that, enjoy.
> 
> A helpful link for your troubles: https://youtu.be/sKj1EFeU-cM?list=PL8sYBBep5yX1oL56TUgme-O2ld5Ne7M3q

Ford and Dipper awoke before the sun rose the next day. They’d both said their goodbyes to Multibear, and began their journey back to the Shack, hiking through the morning dew and struggling to navigate through the forest’s sleepy fog. Dipper clung to Ford’s back, still half asleep and shivering against the chill morning air, despite having Ford's coat wrapped around his shoulders. No one stirred when Ford carried Dipper inside the house, though the floorboards creaked under Ford and Dipper’s weight, despite Ford’s best efforts to tread lightly. Ford tiptoed up the stairs to the attic, careful to avoid the steps that always creaked, and set Dipper down in front of his bedroom door, giving him a light hug. Dipper rubbed his eyes and gave Ford his coat back, almost too tired to speak. He quietly slipped back into his room, and crawled back into bed, still fully dressed in his hiking clothes. He was asleep again the second his head hit the pillow.

Ford smiled to himself as he softly stepped down the stairs, opening the door to his room to find Fiddleford stretched out on the air mattress and snoring like crazy, old records scattered around him. Ford grabbed a throw blanket from the couch and gently draped it over Fiddleford. _I hope he didn't wait up for me last night,_ Ford thought as he took a seat on the sofa, _He deserves some rest._ After a while of watching Fiddleford sleep, it suddenly dawned on him, _Oh god, we have a date. Today!_

Ford shot up from his seat and began to pace, a million scenarios of how this could all possibly go horribly, _horribly_ wrong speeding through his head. _Oh god, what if I can’t find anything to cook, what if I start a forest fire by accident, what if he **remembers** what he saw on the other side of the portal, what if he just decides he doesn’t like me anymore… Oh god what if he decides he **does** like me?! I have to take this slowly, I have to do this **right**. I can’t hurt him again! Oh god, what if I hurt him again? _ Ford paused, looking down at his clothes. _And what the hell am I going to wear for this? Christ, Stanley was right, I really **do** need new clothes. What is Fiddleford going to think if I show up for our date in a trench coat that’s older than his son and a sweater I’m surprised isn’t falling apart? He going to look handsome, I just know it. Fidds actually **listened** to Stan and bought some clothes when he had the chance, he’s got that suit and... Christ. I have to try and look just as nice. _

Ford escaped the bedroom and ran to the laundry room to look for some soap. "I have to clean this thing up." He muttered to himself, fumbling with his coat. He found some peculiar looking jug that claimed to be laundry soap and a box of sewing supplies on the shelf above the dryer. He gathered all of it up and set up shop in the kitchen, taking everything out of his pockets and laying the coat over the table to get a look at it under the light. The coat was in fairly good shape considering where it’d been for the past thirty years, but there were still some questionable-at-best stains and more than a few places that needed patching up. Ford rolled up the sleeves of his sweater and filled the sink up with hot water, adding little bit of the liquid laundry soap.

Mabel came into the kitchen as Ford started scrubbing away in the sink. She rubbed her eyes and yawned, shuffling over to the fridge in her piggy slippers. "Grunkle Ford, what time is it?"

“Hm? Oh, um, early. Probably around seven, I think.” Ford said, not looking up from the sink. “...This thing will _never_ look presentable in time…” He muttered to himself, trying to work out a stain that had been there for years. “It was good enough for the Synagogue why am I so worried about it _now_?” Ford’s voice was low, but not low enough for Mabel not to hear.

"Grunkle Ford... What the heck are you doing?" Mabel asked as she poured herself a glass of milk. "Do you need some help?" She peered into the sink to see Ford scrubbing desperately at some dirt on his trench coat. "I know that coat is special to you... But if you need something nice to wear, I know where Grunkle Stan keeps his fancy clothes."

“...It’s not just special to me, Mabel.” Ford said softly. “I get… _nervous_ without it. And besides, we should probably ask Stan before we just go raiding his closet.” Ford paused, not lifting his hands from the soapy water in the sink. “But I _do_ need something nice to wear for a date. I would appreciate your help."

"A _DATE_?! No wonder you’re so worried, this is important! Grunkle Ford, you came to the right girl!" Mabel set her glass down and ran off for a second, and returned with a pink notebook and a few of the colored pencils Ford gave her for her bat mitzvah. "Okay, first things first, _when_ is it?" Mabel sat at the table with her notebook, ready to take some notes and make a plan.

“Later this evening, I’m cooking Fiddleford dinner outside over a fire.” Ford said.

Mabel scribbled the information down furiously. "Okay, so romantic dinner over an open fire. What are you doing afterwards? Stargazing? OH! How about candlelit dancing? Or cuddling and watching a movie? I can clear the house out for you so you can have privacy." Mabel spoke with complete seriousness.

“I don’t know. It’s been so long since I did anything like this. Though… dancing sounds nice. But I don’t know if that’s what he’d _like_.” Ford said. Suddenly, Mabel was standing on top of her chair.

“Grunkle Ford, you are a nerdy, weird, smelly old man, but we are going to make sure you and Mr. McGucket have the _best_ date of your natural lives through the power of Mabel!” Mabel pointed her finger in the air triumphantly.

“Alright. So what would you recommend I do with this old thing?” Ford said, smiling a bit, lifting the soaking trench coat from the sink.

"I think I can patch up some of the holes, but you really should put that in the washing machine. I promise it won't get hurt in there, and we can put it in there by itself. Are you wearing the sweater too?"

“I don’t know. I do have a few new button ups I haven’t worn yet… But I’m not sure if that’d be too nice or not nice enough.” Ford said. “I don’t know anything about current fashion trends.”

“Yeah, Grunkle Stan told me about how you thought Mr. McGucket’s camo shirt and pink golf pants outfit was cute.” Mabel deadpanned. “Luckily, I’m a fashion _expert_. I'll take a look at what you've got later. What are you going to cook for Mr. McGucket?"

"I'm going to figure that out later..." Ford said, not looking Mabel in the eyes. “Probably... _chicken_ … Rotisserie style, of course.”

"Mmmm, that sounds good! Maybe something romantic and sweet for dessert? I know there are wild blueberries growing in a bush by your bunker, I've tried them. That'll go with the outdoorsy theme!” Mabel said. "And you could roast marshmallows too!"

“Hmmm… Blueberries, eh? You know, I think we just might have the ingredients for pie, if you’d help me make it, Mabel.”

"Of course! I have a recipe bookmarked on my computer! I'm going to help you sweep Mr. McGucket off his feet!"

“Thank you, Mabel.” Ford said, smiling a bit.

"You're welcome, Grunkle Ford! I can pick out your outfit and find the recipe while you go out to get your food." Mabel offered, getting up to wring out Ford's coat in the sink.

“Really?” Ford asked. “I-I mean, _yes_ , you should definitely stay inside the house and do whatever you need to do, because I appreciate what you’re doing. Inside the house.”

Mabel raised an eyebrow and shook her head. "I get it, I'll stay inside. I won't go outside and mess up your plans. I've got the indoor stuff handled, Grunkle Ford. And I'll keep it on the down low." She said with a wink.

“Thank you, Mabel. And I’ll help you out for now.” Ford said. “Once my coat is dry, I’ll have to go out and… buy some chicken. From the store. So Fiddleford and I can eat it.”

"Okay!" Mabel carried the sopping wet coat over to the washing machine. She threw it in the machine and started it up, standing on her tiptoes to do so. "Don't be too nervous, Grunkle Ford. Just be yourself and you'll be fine. Don't be like Dipper and make a checklist, you have to go with the flow."

“Alright…” Ford said, eyeing the washing machine nervously. “L-Let’s go pick out an outfit, huh?”

Ford led Mabel back to his room, sneaking inside to grab a few pairs of clothes he thought would look nice, careful not to wake Fiddleford. Mabel set up a privacy screen near the laundry room, so Ford could change in peace and keep an eye on the washer as well. Ford gladly hid behind the screen, tilting it so he could see into the laundry room, but no one could see behind the screen, and switch his coat to the dryer once it was time. Mabel tossed shirt after shirt over the screen, and patiently waited for Ford to change into each one. Occasionally, Ford would toss one back to her without bothering to try it on, saying it was ‘too revealing’.

“Here, Grunkle Ford. I found some of Stan’s old things from the eighties!” Mabel said, tossing a few shirts over the screen.

“Mabel, I thought we weren’t going to touch Stan’s things until we asked.” Ford said, reaching out to catch the flying shirts before they hit the ground. “I know you think he wouldn’t mind, but there’s someth--” Ford stopped short when a bright red shirt slid through his fingers. The fabric felt smooth against his skin, almost like silk. But to Ford, it felt like someone had stabbed him with a thousand tiny needles. Ford began to tremble as he stumbled backwards, nearly knocking down the privacy screen.

“Grunkle Ford?” Mabel asked, tentatively. “You… You okay in there?”

Ford didn’t answer. Even if he had the presence of mind to speak, he wouldn’t know how to explain to Mabel what was happening. He didn’t feel like he was on Earth anymore, no, he was thousands of light years away, trapped not just between dimensions, but in a very, _very_ literal sense of the word. Ford’s heart raced as memories of a distant and foreign planet, with a harsh summer sun and harsher inhabitants, flooded into his mind. He’d done _something_ to land him in a holding cell on an alien pirate’s ship _,_ though he couldn’t remember what, not right now, no all that mattered was what had _happened_. His hands were tied behind his back, he couldn’t get away, something was coming down the steps, towards his cell, slinking, slithering. It produced a weapon of some sort, jamming in deep into Ford’s side. Ford’s memories went blank after that, the only thing he remembered was that its skin had felt like nylon around his neck.

“Grunkle Ford?” Mabel asked, knocking on one side of the screen. “I’m sorry, did I do something wrong?” Ford had been breathing hard on the other side on the screen for a few minutes, and Mabel was afraid that she might have done something to scare him. "I think your coat's almost ready... It'll be okay when it comes out, I promise. I can check on it right now!"

“P-please..." Ford managed to choke out, leaning against the wall for support. _Focus, focus, you’re not there anymore, control yourself, Stanford._

Mabel ran to the dryer and pulled the coat out. It was slightly damp still, but very warm, and smelled like fabric softener. Mabel tossed it over the screen for Ford. Ford caught it and squeezed it tight, hugging it to his chest, too panicked to put it on properly.

"It’s okay, Grunkle Ford. I know that it's important to you." Mabel said. "And now it's all nice and clean, too! I'm sorry it’s not dry yet... Do you want a glass of water or something?" Mabel asked. She was still concerned, but kept her voice calm to help Ford feel calmer too. Ford couldn't help but hear a hint of Alexandria in Mabel's voice.

"No thank you, Mabel..." He said, taking deep breaths. "I appreciate the offer, though. And... Let's stick to things from my closet... Okay?"

After Ford cooled down and a montage worth of outfit combinations, Mabel approved on one, soft cotton, blue-green button up shirt and a brown sweater vest, a wooly scarf she had knitted herself, and some flattering brown slacks, all underneath his trench coat. Ford looked dashing, nicer than he usually did, even with his unkempt hairdo and gray stubble. Mabel gave her Uncle a huge hug before she let him change back to his usual outfit. "You look really nice, Grunkle Ford, Mr. McGucket is going to love it."

"Thank you, Mabel." Ford said. "I really appreciate it."

"Of course, Grunkle Ford. I'll clean this up, you go ahead and go get your groceries."

Ford gave Mabel a curt nod. "Yes. I'll be back with the groceries in a few hours or so. Keep Fiddleford inside until I give the signal, okay Mabel?"

Mabel gave Ford a salute and sent him out the door.

Ford buttoned his coat against the cool autumn air, making a show of walking down the road before turning off into the forest, heading towards the bunker. Thanks to Mabel, Ford had left the house without a proper hunting weapon, as the pistol on his hip would incinerate anything he tried to shoot with it. He remembered his well-stocked armory in the bunker, he hoped the kids left it untouched. The daylight made it easy to find his way to the secret artificial tree in the middle of the woods, though the cool air made it significantly harder to climb. Ford’s hands were numb by the time he’d gotten the bunker open, and the chill wasn’t any better inside either. Ford was reminded of the winter he and Fiddleford were snowed in the bunker, and how difficult it was to stay warm without their small electric heater in the corner of the room. He smiled fondly at the memory of them intertwined on the small cot, curled up underneath a blanket to keep warm. He grabbed a crossbow hanging up in the open armory chest, inspecting the weapon to make sure it was still functional. He loaded it and aimed it at an empty crate across the room, but stopped short. His old record player was resting on top of it.

“This is perfect! We can set it up out here, away from the kids, build a nice little fire… have some music.” Ford smiled a bit, dusting off the old record player, checking the parts to see if it still worked. “Maybe it’ll be just like it used to be…” Ford mused to himself, and made a mental note to bring along the records Fiddleford came across the previous night. Ford looked around the dingy bunker, full of cobwebs and dirt and caterpillars, and felt self-conscious again. “Why can’t one thing from my life look _nice_ for once?” He muttered, grabbing an old corn broom that looked to be on its last legs. His eyes watered from the thick clouds of dust the broom swept into the air, but he had to make the bunker look at least presentable before tonight.

Ford spent longer than anticipated cleaning up the bunker. He made up the cot in the corner, dusted off every surface, and left the door open to air the place out. But there was still something missing, the place still looked gloomy. Ford rummaged around in a few boxes until he came across some emergency candles, and placed them strategically around the room. Hopefully that would make the place seem warmer and romantic once lit, chase away the gloomy feeling that hung in the air. He nodded to himself, spinning on his heel to close the bunker, and get to hunting.

It didn't take long for Ford to find some tracks.

This early into fall, he hadn't expected to find this particular animal, and if it hadn't been for the bits of cold embers on a nearby tree, he would have written the tracks off as an escaped chicken. But years of experience had taught him to pick up on even the tiniest of clues.

Tonight, he'd be bringing Fiddleford the rare basabasa. There was something satisfying about hunting your own meals after a while of eating food others had prepared. It made Ford feel as if he were in his element, he could hone the skills he gained out of necessity and practice them in order to provide for someone else, someone he cared about. It was a primal feeling, a rush Ford didn't often get anymore. He’d nearly forgotten how in _control_ he felt, hunting down easy prey, in familiar woods. It was almost relaxing, knowing he was doing this as a gift to someone else, rather than trying to scrape by on his own. He took comfort in knowing that if he failed he wouldn’t go hungry and neither would his family.

The tracks led him north of the bunker, likely towards the bird’s nest. Ford kept the crossbow in his left hand, always aimed in front of him, ready to fire with surgical precision. He’d have to be careful with how he killed the basabasa. This far away from the Shack, he’d need to pierce its flesh without rupturing the glands that supplied the beast’s ghostly fire, in order to keep the meat cold enough to ward off pestilence. As much as Ford wanted to save the glands for the summer, when he’d like to show Stan, Fiddleford, and the kids how delicious they could be, he needed to use them now if he wanted fresh meat for his date. Ford’s steps were quiet, calculated. His instincts took over, his brain entering an almost relaxing headspace as he neared his prey.

_There_.

Ford stood perfectly still, concealed by some overgrown bushes. About forty feet away, almost invisible to the untrained eye, sat a fairly large, brown basabasa. The beast, unaware of Ford’s presence, pecked at its nest, breathing its ghostly fire onto the twigs, likely preparing the nest for a potential mate. Ford slowly inched forward, a finger on the trigger of the crossbow, taking aim for the basabasa.

Ford smirked as he sent an arrow clean through the basabasa’s head, piercing its brain and killing it. The bird twitched and flapped for a few moments after death, before its body finally settled a good ten feet from its nest. Ford unsheathed a knife from beneath his pants leg and retrieved his prize, dangling the basabasa by its feet with a wide smile. He carefully cut the creature’s neck, careful to not disturb the precious glands inside, to let the blood begin to drain. He felt proud of himself, and was ready to impress Fiddleford with not only with his hunting prowess, but with his cooking skills as well. When the basabasa’s blood had drained as much as it could, Ford took the knife and carved out the two glands from the beast’s neck. One of the glands was a fluorescent blue color, while the other a deep red, and each gland was roughly three inches long. He squeezed the blue gland until it burst, and without the red gland to ignite the ghostly fire, a cold liquid oozed out of the gland, and onto the basabasa, lowering the meat’s temperature to about thirty-five degrees, more than cold enough to keep for the trip back.

Ford made his way back towards the bunker, keeping an eye out for the blueberry bush Mabel had mentioned earlier. The bush was smaller than expected, and sat close to the secret panel Ford had hidden the third journal in. Keeping the basabasa aloft, Ford kneeled down to inspect the fruit on the bush. He plucked a little berry off of the plant and eyed it carefully, making sure they were blueberries and not something magical and/or poisonous. He sniffed the berry, and cautiously took a tiny bite, both pleasantly surprised and thankful to find that Mabel had been right. He picked more, sticking them into his coat pockets until they bulged, careful not to squish any, and set off towards the Shack.

Ford cautiously approached the Shack, not wanting to scare Mabel with the sight of a dead animal. When he found no sign of her outside the house, he slipped out of his coat, pulled out his knife and set to plucking the basabasa. He took the red gland between his fingers now, and squeezed it until it burst, igniting the juices from the blue gland in a bright but cold fire. The flames died down quickly, there was only enough juices in the glands to loosen the follicles of the feathers, and Ford set to plucking the feathers, careful not to damage the skin of the bird as he did so. Once the bird was properly plucked, he slit the skin on its neck, and split the neck from the windpipe with a sharp _crack_. He cropped the windpipe and chopped the rest of the neck bone off, and set to chopping the basabasa’s feet as well. Ford turned the bird over, slicing open the body cavity and gutting the basabasa, setting the extra pieces aside to use as stock for soup later. Once he’d removed the last of the basabasa’s innards, and discarded any unusable organs and glands, Ford set the chicken into the ice chest on the Shack’s front porch, and went inside, careful to hide his hands behind his back so Mabel wouldn’t see any blood and get frightened.

Mabel had prepared the pie crust by the time Ford returned home, and had the recipe printed out and laid out on the counter. "Hi, Grunkle Ford! Did you find the berries?" Flour flew from Mabel’s sleeves as she waved to Ford, his hands behind his back. "I went ahead and started on the crust, so we can make the filling together!"

“That would be wonderful, Mabel. Just, ah, just let me wash my hands.” Ford said, hoping he hadn’t gotten much blood on the front of his coat.

Mabel didn't notice Ford washing the blood from his hands as she looked over the recipe. "I hope you got at least… 6 cups of blueberries. If not, I might have to half the recipe and make a smaller crust..." Mabel seemed to know what she was doing, in charge and in her element in the kitchen. "Don't forget to wash the berries off."

Ford nodded, drying his hands and grabbing a bowl, emptying his pockets of the wild blueberries, thankful that none of them had burst and stained his coat. “Will this be enough?” He asked, once his pockets were empty.

Mabel stood on her tiptoes to look over at the sink and nodded. "That looks about right!" She said, rolling up her sleeves. "Now, put those into a clean bowl, and sprinkle them with that cinnamon I set out. And then we'll add the sugar and the flour and butter... And I'll make the lattice for the top of the pie!" Mabel grabbed the butter from the fridge and placed it in a mug to melt it in the microwave.

Ford watched Mabel work with a small smile and followed her instructions to the letter. He carefully added the cinnamon and sugar to the berries as directed and showed his work to Mabel for approval, only continuing when she gave him a nod of her head. Mabel poured the filling into the crust once Ford finished it and carefully cut strips of dough for the lattice top. "This is going to be so good! You'll have to save me a slice!"

“Well, since you helped make it, I’m inclined to give you the first slice once it cools. I couldn’t have done this without your help, Mabel.” Ford said, smiling at her.

Mabel grinned back at Ford and went back to focusing on the lattice, sticking her tongue out in concentration. The finished product was absolutely beautiful, like something right out of a cookbook. Mabel carefully slid it into the oven and set the timer. "There we go!" Mabel got to cleaning up the mess she and Ford had made, all with a fading smile.

“Here, Mabel, let me help you with that.” Ford said, grabbing a towel and running it under the sink to get it wet.

"No, I've got it, Grunkle Ford, I made most of the mess!" Mabel took the wet towel from Ford and wiped down the counter

“Well that means you did most of the work. You should take a break, maybe Dipper wants to hang out with you.” Ford said. “You can stay if you like, but I really don’t mind cleaning up.”

"Okay... If you want to." Mabel handed over the towel and took a seat at the kitchen table. "I think Dipper is sleeping in today anyway." She let out a tiny sigh, picking at the wood grain of the table.

“Are… Are you alright, Mabel?” Ford asked.

"Hmm--? Oh I'm fine!" Mabel said, pulling at the sleeves of her sweater and looking over the date plan she had laid out for Ford. "Why, is something wrong?"

“Are you sure?” Ford said, pulling up a chair and sitting across from Mabel. “I know I’m not the best at reading people, but if there’s something you want to talk about…”

"I'm okay, Grunkle Ford. I just want this date to go well for you. You looked really happy when we were baking, and I like seeing you happy." Mabel leaned her cheek on the palm of her hand and sighed. "I want all of you guys to be happy, you know? Everyone's been so stressed out lately and I want everyone to be okay again. Mom always knew how to make people feel better..."

"That's true, but she was also a licensed psychologist." Ford said. "She loved to help, I'm sure, but it was also her _job_ to help make people feel better." Ford sighed. "You know, before she passed... She offered to help me, too? She cared about other people very much. And so do you, Mabel. But your mother's job isn't _your_ job. In the future, if you want to study psychology like her, far be it from me to stop you. But right now, you're still a child, Mabel. It's great that you want to see other people happy, but you have to take some time to make sure you're happy, too. I… I worry about you, Mabel."

Mabel leaned against Ford and held onto his arm. "It's easy to make everyone else happy, but I don't know if I can do it myself. It's really hard for me sometimes, Grunkle Ford. I'm trying really hard." Mabel held onto Ford's arm tight as she spoke, sniffling, "I try to be okay, cause I know that’s what mom would’ve wanted, but sometimes I just want to cry."

Ford tensed slightly, unsure of what to do. The wheels in his brain were turning a mile a minute, trying to think of something that would make Mabel feel better. Ford mentally cursed himself, nothing he could think to say would work, there was something _different_ about this situation, something Ford couldn’t quite pin down, and if he said or did the wrong thing it might make Mabel feel even worse. _Christ, maybe I should just take her to Multibear, he seems better at this sort of--_ something clicked in Ford’s head.

“Mabel, it’s okay to feel sad.” Ford said quietly, uncertainty in his voice. “You’re… You’re still grieving. I know your mother would want you to be happy but… that doesn’t mean you should just ignore the problem when you’re not. Grief… hurts. And it’ll probably hurt for a while, but Stan, Dipper, and I will be here for you if you need us.” Ford stumbled over his words, trying to remember what Multibear had said to Dipper last night.

Mabel held onto Ford and nodded, trying not to sniffle. "Thanks, Grunkle Ford..." She looked up at him with teary eyes, "I love you."

Ford stared at Mabel for a moment, covered in flour and with a little speck of butter on her face as a result of their hard work, tears running down her cheeks. Slowly, carefully, he wrapped his arms around her small frame, pulling her close, tears welling up in his own eyes. “...I love you, too, Mabel.”

Mabel squeezed Ford as tight as she could, and laughed a little. "You smell like fabric softener." She remarked and smiled up at Ford, a sincere smile, a real one.

“You know, it’s been a long time since someone said that to me?” Ford said, chuckling a bit.

"That you smell like fabric softener? That's because you never use it!" Mabel chuckled and pulled away from Ford.

“Yeah, well… you get used to not having it after a while.” Ford said, still laughing.

The oven timer dinged, and Mabel hopped out of her chair to check on the pie. She opened the oven and peered inside, the pie's crust was a perfect golden brown. Mabel reached for the hand puppet shaped oven mitts and carefully took the pie out of the oven.

“How’s it looking?” Ford asked.

"It’s perfect, Come see!" Mabel set the pie on a rack to cool.  Ford peered over Mabel’s shoulder, his glasses fogging a bit from the pie’s steam. Ford inhaled, the scent of sweet blueberries filling his nose.

“You don’t know how much I missed blueberry pie…” Ford said quietly. “Thank you, Mabel. For everything.”

"You're welcome! I really hope Mr. McGucket likes it!" Mabel said.

“Well, I do believe I promised you the first slice.” Ford said, ruffling Mabel’s hair. “So just help yourself when it cools. I’ll grab Fiddleford and get started on the ba-- _store bought chicken_.”

In the bedroom, Fiddleford looked at himself in the mirror, making sure his clothes were spotless. He had no idea what Ford was planning, but knew he should look nice for the occasion. He wore the pants that came along with his brand new suit, and a more casual white button up, neatly pressed. It was the early evening, and Fiddleford had spent most of his day away from Ford to try and prepare.

Ford had stopped by the living room, taking advantage of the privacy screen that was still set up, and changed into the outfit Mabel had picked out for him. He straightened out his coat, smoothing out any creases from his hunting trip, and softly knocked on the door to his and Fiddleford’s bedroom.

Fiddleford jumped a little at the noise and opened up the door. "Yes-- Oh! Hello, Stanford! You look… wow you look very nice." Fiddleford looked Ford over with a bashful smile, he hadn't seen Ford make such an effort to clean up before.

“You… look nice as well.” Ford said, slowly moving to the other side of the room where Fiddleford’s records lay. “I’ve uh… I’ve got the meat. And Mabel and I made a pie. Want to, er, head over to the bunker? For some, uh, privacy?” He asked, grabbing _Rumors_ from the top of the stack of records and hiding it behind his back.

"Dinner in the bunker...? Well, if you think it's safe, I don't see why not. It sounds rather nice." Fiddleford grabbed his new coat and led the way out of the room, not noticing Ford shoving the record inside of his trench coat.

Mabel had only taken a tiny slice out of the pie, and put the rest into a Tupperware container she’d decorated with pink glittery heart stickers. Fiddleford picked up the container and held it carefully. "I'll carry this, since we have to do a bit of walking."

“Ah, thank you. The, uh, the meat is in an ice chest, so I’ll grab that.” Ford said, straightening his sweater vest.

The walk was quiet, and neither of them minded the cool autumn air much. Leaves crunched rhythmically beneath their feet and the sun was just beginning to set when they reached the bunker. Ford set the cooler down, and dug a small hole to build a fire in, leaving a trench near the front to use as an actual cooking area.

Fiddleford took a seat on the little cooler and watched Ford work, rather impressed. "Do you need help with anythin'? You seem to know what you're doin'."

“Oh, no, you make yourself comfortable, Fidds. I’ll have the fire going in just a second.” Ford said, gathering small, dry twigs and dead leaves to use as tinder and kindling, gently placing them into the pit. He set larger, dead pine branches from a fallen tree on top, leaving a small break in the fire lay so he could rake out embers as needed once the fire was lit. “Er, wait here, Fidds. I’ve got to go find some hickory to cook the meat with.” Ford said, standing up. Luckily, it didn’t take long to find the right tree, and Ford returned with a proper rotisserie spit before Fiddleford could blink. Ford lit the fire, pleased with himself and hoping he’d impressed Fiddleford, pausing a moment to warm his hands by the fire before cooking the basabasa.

“So, Stanford, what exactly will we be dinin’ on this evening?” Fiddleford asked, smiling mischievously, getting up to warm his hands beside Ford.

“ _Well_ ,” Ford said, grinning wide. “Today, I happened to come across the rare and elusive _basabasa_.” Ford said, waggling his fingers and reaching into the cooler. “Normally they’re very bland, but I snuck a few spices out of the house. You’re going to love it, I promise.” Ford said, grabbing the basabasa and putting it on his handmade rotisserie spit.

“Er, Stanford, I dunno how to tell you this, but that just looks like a chicken.” Fiddleford said, scratching the back of his head.

"Well, biologically, the basabasa and the ordinary chicken are very similar. But they have many differences, mainly that the basabasa can breathe fire.” Ford said.

"Oh my. And you hunted this? I had no idea you could hunt! I think I remember I used to hunt as a youngin. Maybe we should… go together sometime?"

“That would… That would be lovely, Fidds.” Ford said, seasoning the basabasa and beginning to cook it, using a branch to rake embers from the fire into the trench. “I think hunting is one of the only skills I learned on the other side of the portal that I actually… _enjoy_. I’d love to share it with you.”

Fiddleford smiled and watched Ford cook closely, standing near him and the fire for warmth. "This is very nice, Stanford. I can't recall the last time somebody did somethin' like this just for me."

Ford froze, his heart beginning to crumble. He didn’t know what to say, what to do, so he simply rotated the basabasa, its skin beginning to brown in the heat of the fire.

Fiddleford began to shiver as the sun disappeared below the horizon. "Should I get the lever for the bunker? It's gettin' dark out here, and a little chilly."

“I-I think maybe I should handle that. The tree is _extremely_ cold, and--” Ford stopped short when Fiddleford scrambled up the tree, reaching the lever at the top in just a few seconds.

"I got it!" He hollered from the top of the tree, and held onto the trunk as it sank into the ground, sliding down like a fire pole. "I was livin' in here for a while... I found my ways in and out."

Ford balked. “That was… Impressive. But, aren’t you cold?” Ford reached out, grabbing Fiddleford’s freezing hands.

Fiddleford blushed and shivered, "W-well, maybe just a little bit. I don't mind. You're really warm." Ford nodded, keeping one hand intertwined with Fiddleford’s and using the other to grab the pie and the basabasa, careful to not let it slide off the spit. Fiddleford unlocked the door to the bunker and fumbled for the light switch. The industrial light, for some reason, wouldn't turn on.

"Oh now, that's a shame." Ford said, trying to hold back a smile, carefully setting down the pie and the basabasa on a counter he could barely see. He pulled out a book of matches from his pocket and lit one of the candles he had placed around the room. "It looks like these candles will have to do." He said with a smirk. There were at least ten placed all around the room, and Fiddleford shook his head and smiled as Ford hurried to light each of them. Ford dusted off a package of paper plates that had likely been down there since the eighties, and set one in front of Fiddleford, placing the basabasa on another plate to cut it. “Alright, Fidds. Do you want a leg, a wing, or the breast?” Ford said, pulling out a knife.

"I'll take a leg, thank you." Fiddleford sat on an old beanbag chair that was close to falling apart, propped up against the cot. Ford nodded and set to work, grabbing a leg for himself as well, and cut a slice of pie for the both of them.

“S-so… how do you like it?” Ford said, once Fiddleford had taken his first bite.

Fiddleford closed his eyes and smiled as he took little bites, enjoying what Ford had prepared, "Ford, this is delicious, I've never tasted anything quite like it!" 

Ford felt a blush creep across his face. “Really? I’m glad you think so.”

"Yes, really. I like it a lot." Fiddleford's voice was sweet and genuine, and he finished off his dinner quickly, happy to move on to dessert. "You and Mabel made this?"

"We did. Mabel did a majority of the work, she's very talented. I just picked the blueberries.” Ford said sheepishly, taking a bit of his own slice of pie.

"Well, you both did a mighty fine job. It’s very good, Ford. Thank you."

Ford stood and reached into a stretched out inside pocket of his coat. "I have another treat for you." Ford pulled out the record from his pocket, it had bent just a little. Fiddleford beamed at the cover. _Rumors_ by Fleetwood Mac. It was one of his very favorites.

Ford turned the old record player in the corner of the room on and carefully placed the vinyl on the turntable. He had forgotten how mesmerizing the sound of a needle on a record was. A smile spread across his face at the familiarity of it. The upbeat tune of _Secondhand News_ started up, and Fiddleford stood from his seat, joyfully dancing over to Ford and grabbing his hands. As they started to dance, for a brief moment, it was as if the past thirty years had never happened. Fiddleford sang along blissfully, spinning Ford in a circle, their bodies moving in less than perfect rhythm.

As the record played on to _Dreams_ Fiddleford moved slower and closer to Ford, his hips swaying to the grooving bassline. Fiddleford wrapped his arms around Ford, his hands resting on Ford's shoulders, gazing into his eyes. Ford’s own arms wrapped around Fiddleford’s torso, squeezing him tight. As the grooving bassline faded into the lighter guitar notes of _Never Going Back Again_ , Ford felt a rush of sadness, and for a brief moment, he was younger. Fiddleford was younger. They were both dancing in the bunker, huddled to keep warm against the blizzard outside, not a care in the world, no apocalypse, no mind melting cults, the inevitability of death the furthest thing from their minds, just the two of them dancing. Fiddleford’s wrinkled hands lightly squeezed Ford’s shoulders, a light smile on his face. Ford made a halfhearted attempt to return the favor, but he couldn’t help but focus on how white Fiddleford’s beard was, the way his skin sagged around his blue eyes, the way the skin on Ford’s own calloused hands wrinkled and bunched. Ford slowly stopped dancing, simply hugging Fiddleford closer, as the light beat of the song played on.

“...What happened to us? When did we become old men?” Ford asked quietly.

Fiddleford rested his head against Ford's chest and chuckled. "About thirty years ago? I can't remember when I started gettin' white hair." Fiddleford looked back up at Ford, his smile fading a little. "We aren't ancient just yet."

“We had our whole lives ahead of us…” Ford said quietly. “We’re not that old but we’re old enough that... Fidds I don’t want ‘rough and tumble interdimensional vagabond’ on my tombstone. I did a few things in my life I can be proud of, took out a few government dictatorships, got a few PhD’s… But everything’s so different now…”

"I'm not sure I understand... Ford, we've still got plenty of years ahead of us. To do something we can be proud of. Lord knows I need all the time I can get to make up for the past."

“I don’t really know how to explain it... I just missed so _much_ , I can’t seem to get back in the swing of things here. Everything moved on, this world was just fine without Stanford Pines…” Ford took a deep breath. “And I’m so sorry, Fiddleford… I know you don’t think what happened was my fault, but trust me, it was. For what it’s worth, I think _you_ can do it. I think you can get back on your feet after this.”

"Stanford..." Fiddleford placed a hand gently on Ford's cheek. "Whatever happened then, it was years ago. You've done so much for me to help me become myself again. I don't know what happened, whether it was your fault or not, it doesn't matter. You're helpin' me move on. I couldn't do it without you."

Ford leaned into the touch, and wrapped Fiddleford in a warm hug. Fiddleford pulled apart once he realized the record was skipping. "Oh, drat." He huffed and leaned over to move the needle, still hanging onto Stanford. _You Make Loving Fun_ began, and Fiddleford beamed. "I know this one, Ford! I used to sing this one to you."

Ford smiled wide, and his heart began to flutter. “I think I remember that, too, Fidds.”

Fiddleford started to sing along with the song, not exactly in key, but with passion. He twirled Ford as they danced, stopping his singing to laugh when they would trip over each other’s feet. They continued to dance around the small room until the record played a slower song, causing the both of them to stop and sway in each other’s arms, happy just to be close. Fiddleford looked up at Stanford with a blush when he was pulled closer by the waist, Ford’s arms tangling around Fiddleford’s thin frame. They both stopped dancing, content to simply hold each other, cherishing being so close.

“This is nice…” Ford whispered, not daring to ruin the moment.

“It is.” Fiddleford agreed. He ignored the sound of the needle scratching at the vinyl, the album had played through. He didn’t want this moment to end. Fiddleford wanted to stay in the bunker, ignore the outside world, stay in the arms of the only person he felt understood him. Ford wrapped his arms tighter around Fiddleford, nestling his chin in the crook of his neck.

“...We should probably get back soon.” Ford whispered. He slowly, gently, stood up, grunting a bit as he lifted Fiddleford, and carried him out of the bunker. Fiddleford allowed Stanford to sweep him off of his feet, quite literally, and carry him out of the bunker. Fiddleford lept down to stand on his own, but remained holding Ford’s hand the whole walk back to their home, leaning close to him to keep out the chill of the night air.

The windows of the Shack were darkened, and the house was filled with an eerie silence as Fiddleford and Ford crept back inside. As soon as they both stepped into the living room, the lights flipped on, revealing Stan and Mabel in their PJs, sitting down with their arms crossed sternly. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” Mabel asked.

“Holy--!” Ford lept backwards, putting an arm in front of Fiddleford. “What on earth?”

“I reckon it’s about ten o’clock, Mabel.” Fiddleford said.

“Mabel what are you doing up?” Ford asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Stan, why did you let her stay up this late?”

“You guys have been gone all night, Grunkle Stan and I have been worried sick!” Mabel exclaimed.

Stan shook his head and crossed his arms again, “It’s past curfew.”

“Mabel, you _knew_ Fiddleford and I were going out tonight. You helped bake the pie!” Ford pointed at Stan. “And I’m a grown man, Stanley. I don’t need, want, or have a curfew.”

Fiddleford stifled a laugh, covering his mouth and trying not to snort. “We’re so sorry, we lost track of time.”

“Don’t apologize, they’re being ridiculous, Fiddleford.” Ford said. “It’s demeaning.”

“I honestly meant no disrespect to you or yer household, Mr. Pines.” Fiddleford continued, smirking a bit.

“Fiddleford, you are _older than him_.” Ford’s eyebrows were scrunched in confusion, wondering if somehow an older memory of Fiddleford’s had come to the surface and he was just flashing back to it.

“Mr. McGucket, what exactly are your _intentions_ with my Grunkle?” Mabel asked, on the verge of bursting out with laughter.

“ _Mabel._ ” Ford said, his face turning beet red. “What Fiddleford and I do when we’re out is _private_ information. And I don’t like what you’re _implying_ , young lady.”

“My brother fancies you quite a bit, but I’m not going to let a ruffian like you soil his reputation.” Stanley added. “Don’t go spreading rumors that aren’t true.”

Fiddleford couldn’t contain his laughter at this point, “Mabel, Stanley, I promise my intentions are pure!”

“Why are you laughing?” Ford asked. “She’s thirteen she shouldn’t be asking that sort of thing!” Stanley joined in on the laughter, and Mabel rolled on the floor. Stanford threw his hands up in frustration. “Will someone _please_ tell me what’s going on?”

Fiddleford elbowed Ford and chuckled, “They’re just messing with us, Stanford.”

“Yeah, poindexter. It’s a bit. Comedy gold.” Stan said, slapping his knee.

“Oh.” Ford said, beginning to chuckle a bit himself. “ _Oh,_ that’s hilarious! Like… Like Badro My Nodius in Dimension 768-W! But with people instead of Azamondoxa! And no one’s devouring each other on live television!” Ford was laughing hard now, holding his stomach.

Everyone else was quiet. Ford slowly stopped laughing, nervously looking around the room, his face flushing red from embarrassment.

“...Guess you had to be there.” He said quietly, scratching the back of his head, a bit dejected that he couldn’t seem to join in on everyone’s fun.

Fiddleford hooked his arm with Ford’s, patting him and chuckling a little. “You’ll have to explain it to me later. How about we all hit the hay?”

“I second that. Mabel and I have been sitting in the dark all night.” Stan said, popping his back.

"Totally worth it!" Mabel laughed as Stan picked her up to carry her off to the attic.

Ford sheepishly intertwined his hand with Fiddleford's, not quite looking him in the eyes. "Sorry, guess I got worked up over nothing, huh?"

Fiddleford gripped Stanford's hand and led him back to their bedroom. "It’s alright, Stanford, it took me a second to figure out they were prankin' us too. Don't worry about it." Fiddleford shed his light coat once they reached their bedroom, hanging it up carefully before taking a seat on the sofa. "I had a nice time, Stanford. I'd like to do this again."

Ford sat down next to him, gently wrapping an arm around Fiddleford’s shoulders. “I’d like that as well, Fidds.”

Fiddleford leaned into Stanford's frame, his head resting in the crook of Ford's neck. "Maybe we can bring more than one record the next time."

Ford left out a soft chuckle. “Sorry, I wanted it to be a surprise. I’ll let you pick out the music next time.”

Fiddleford placed a hand on Ford's shoulder, turning slightly to face him, "It was nice. Thank you, Stanford. For everything."

Ford tensed slightly, his heart rate beginning to pick up. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, Fidds.” He paused, smiling a bit. “Thank _you_ for joining me.”

Fiddleford smiled back and leaned in closer, his hand traveling from Ford's shoulder to his face, his thumb softly stroking Ford's bristly cheek. Fiddleford bit his lip, trying to muster up the courage to do what he's wanted to do for a long time. Ford’s eyes went wide, not daring to move, reminding himself that this was Fiddleford, that he wouldn’t hurt him, that his involvement with Fiddleford wouldn’t disturb his quest to revive Sherman and Alexandria. Fiddleford took a quick breath, closed his eyes, and moved as close as he could to press his lips against Ford's.

Fiddleford melted into Ford, his heart nearly leapt out of his chest as they kissed. His hands held either side of Ford's face, a soft but passionate grip. He could feel Ford tensing up, and pulled away sooner than he had wanted to, breathing a shaky, "Stanford...?"

Ford’s breathing was a little shallow, but he’d managed to keep himself from flying into a panic. “Sorry… I, uh, didn’t expect you’d be the type to kiss on the first date.” He said sheepishly. “But… It was nice.” He added, a light smile on his face.

Fiddleford grinned and stole another gentle and quick kiss, laughing softly when he pulled away. "I didn't mean to shock you, but I'm glad it was a pleasant surprise." Fiddleford scooted over on the couch to give Stanford a little more room. Ford smiled softly, grabbing hold of Fiddleford’s hand and squeezing it gently, thankful for the extra space between them but not wanting to be separated from Fiddleford quite yet.

“...Maybe we should try that again sometime, too.” Ford said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, everybody! Stay tuned for the next chapter in a few days! If you like it be sure to let us know and you can comment below if you have any questions about the fic!  
> (lord-of-vaginas-and-time.tumblr.com and greenllamajeans.tumblr.com)


	15. Burgers and Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 20-8-5 19-20-1-14-6-15-18-4 6-18-15-13 4-9-13-5-14-19-9-15-14 6-15-18-20-25 6-15-21-18 4-15-5-19-14'20 16-18-15-10-5-3-20 1-19 13-21-3-8 1-19 20-8-5 15-14-5 6-18-15-13 4-9-13-5-14-19-9-15-14 6-15-18-20-25 19-9-24 1-16-15-19-20-18-15-16-8-5 2-1-3-11-19-12-1-19-8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are implied suicidal thoughts in this chapter, just a forewarning!

Ford shivered and pulled his coat closer around him, leaning back in the passenger seat of the Stanley Mobile, ignoring the biting October chill that crept in through the window.

“You, uh, you doing alright over there, poindexter?” Stan asked. The drive to a psychiatrist in Bend, Oregon would be a long one, an hour and a half, and Stan wasn’t about to waste the gas if Ford was getting cold feet about this. "I know the heater isn't really working, I'm trying to get it fixed. Car’s old, you know?” He added, a bit sheepish.

“Huh? No, I’m fine, really…” Ford trailed off, looking around the car, at the peeling vinyl seats and grease stains, some of them familiar reminders of how long Stan had had his car. “...You really did do a good job keeping her going.” Ford said quietly. “Even if the heater isn't working right.”

"I did my best, seeing as I had to live in it for about ten years." Stan said casually, trying not to recall all of the winter nights he spent freezing his ass off trying to get some decent rest, the gun he kept under the seat for emergencies, conning his way into enough money to get whatever part he needed to keep the thing running. Stan nearly jumped when he felt Ford’s hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

"Don't be. We both did what we had to do." Stan gripped the steering wheel and kept his eyes trained on the road. "You didn't know."

“I should’ve.” Ford’s voice was low, trying to keep images of his brother, cold and alone and starving, from his mind. “I should’ve tried to find you sooner. I shouldn't have told myself that you   were fine without anything to back it up.”

"It's okay poindexter, really. I survived." Stan said, swerving around a car in front of him that was going ten miles under the speed limit. "All that matters is that you're here, I'm here, and the StanleyMobile is still here.”

“It’s a nice car. It suits you.” Ford said, smiling a little despite himself. “Even after all this time, I don’t think I can really imagine you with a different one.”

"I’ll tell you, Ford, this old thing still attracts the ladies. Gents, too." Stan grinned, waggling his eyebrows, although Ford couldn't imagine Stan _or_ the car being attractive to many women anymore. Then again, if Ford could make things work with Fiddleford, maybe Stan had a shot after all. Stan continued to waggle his eyebrows and nudged Ford. “Speaking of, how was your _date_ with Fiddlenerd?”

“Oh! It was… It was fantastic.” Ford said, a light blush creeping across his face. “Mabel helped me make a pie, and I killed dinner for us. He seemed to really like it.”

“I knew I wasn’t the only smooth one in the family, good going, Ford! You’re just a late bloomer, huh?” Stanley teased a little, but he was genuinely happy for Ford. “And if he ever does somethin’ to hurt you, I’ll kick his ass.”

“Stanley, Fiddleford and I dated for _years_ both during and after college, I’m not late for anything.” Ford said. “And I… I actually think I… _trust_ him.”

Stanley gave Ford another happy shove and laughed, “It’s like there’s a brand new guy sittin’ next to me! Things are looking up.” Stanley screeched the car to a halt as he nearly ran a red light.

“Holy Moses, Stanley!” Ford yelled, clutching his chest and putting an arm out in front of Stan. “I can take the wheel if--”

“If you took the wheel we wouldn’t get there for another three _days_ , Stanford.” Stanley deadpanned. Stan sped away as soon as the light changed and checked his watch as he drove. “We’ve got an hour to be there, and I’ll get us there before then, so don’t give me any crap about my driving. Save your breath for when we get to the doctor, alright?”

“...I’m still not sure what I’m even going to say.” Ford said, wringing his hands.

“To the doctor? Be honest, but be vague about it. You were traumatized about 30 years ago, something happened while you were out of the country. Maybe you got lost in the mountains somewhere and had to fend for yourself or some shit, just make something up if he asks. Just tell him about your _symptoms_ , he’ll tell you what he thinks you have and he’ll dope you up.”

“...Does that mean something different now?” Ford asked, raising an eyebrow. “Or is it still hard drugs?”

“He’ll _medicate_ you. Don’t worry about it too much, this guy knows what he’s doing. I made a lot of calls to find someone I felt was trustworthy. The only bad thing he’ll do is overcharge us.” Stan said, rolling his eyes. “Damn doctors never let a bill slip through their grubby paws.”

“ _Oh god what if he’s possessed_.” Ford said, eyes wide, tensing up.

“Then fucking _leave_.” Stan said. “That damn demon can’t possess _you_ anymore, can he? You come get me ASAP and we’ll get the hell out of there.” Stan paused. “Oh, and uh… You _can’t_ bring any weapons into the doctor’s office. Not your gun, not your knife, just _don’t_. You go in there acting vague as shit about your symptoms and they find out you’re armed? It won’t be pretty.” Stan gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles were almost white. “If… If it’ll help you out, there’s a pocket knife in the glove box you can take in with you. Just keep it _closed_ , and inside your pocket. Okay?”

Ford leaned back into the passenger seat, trying to relax as much as he could.  His hands shook as he pulled his gun and holster off of his belt, mentally kicking himself. _Christ, I hadn’t even considered… They’ll ask too many questions, this is too fucking dangerous, I don’t think I can do this…_ Ford slowly reached into the glove box, pulling out a tiny, dull, pocket knife. It was better than nothing, but a far cry from what he usually carried. _Is an hour’s worth of panic worth potentially getting rid of the problem altogether? What if… What if he really is possessed? I could die, leave the kids behind, leave Stan and Fiddleford unprotected... But if I keep going like… like **this** then I might not have a goddamned choice… _

Stan eyed Ford as he looked at the pocket knife, almost able to see his thoughts racing. “What’s going on, Ford? I’m sorry that pocket knife isn’t the best… I just don’t want you gettin’ in trouble. Especially trouble that’ll only hurt you worse in the long run.” Stan said. _God I hope he doesn’t do anything stupid. One slip up and they could institutionalize him, thinking it’s for the best… They’ll never believe him if he tries to tell them the truth, they’ll misdiagnose him, and he’d probably just get worse surrounded by all those people with no weapons. I’d lose him all over again._

Ford slowly reached into his pocket, pulling out Alexandria’s business card. The letters had faded by now, having been worn away by Stanford’s calloused fingers weeks ago. It was flimsy and crinkled, but the sentiment behind it was still there. “Stanley… Do you think this is what Alexandria would have wanted?” Ford asked quietly, tenderly running his thumb over the worn down business card.

“Ford, she was a therapist. Of course this is what she would have wanted. Sherman too. They would have wanted you to get some help.” Stan said, swerving a bit as he put a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “Even if it’s risky, it’s better than doing nothing while you waste away.”

“...Okay.” Ford said, putting the small knife and the old business card into his coat pocket, resolving to go see a psychiatrist as planned. “...I think they’d be proud of _you_ , for helping the kids through this.” He added. “For helping _all of us_ through this.”

Stan placed his hand back on the steering wheel, turning into the medical center parking lot. “It’s my job. Somebody’s gotta keep all of you in line.” Stan paused. “Do you want me to wait out here or go into the waiting room with you?”

“Er, the waiting room would probably be better. Knowing me I’d probably mess something up with the insurance and, er… possibly offend someone with my general lack of cultural knowledge.” Ford said. He paused, one hand on the car door. “...And Stan?”

“What, poindex--” Stan was cut short as Ford wrapped his arms around Stan’s torso, squeezing him tight.

“Thank you.” Ford said, clutching the back of Stan’s suit jacket. “I… I know you’ve got your own stuff to deal with, and… I know you miss Sherman and Alexandria too, I just… Thank you.”

Stan put an arm around Ford and pat his back, sighing. "You're welcome, Ford. It's okay, I'm dealing with my stuff just fine... Today's about you, alright?" Stan said. “Let’s go.” Stan slid out of the car and clutched the keys between his fingers. Ford followed suit, eyeing the building nervously.

"This shouldn't take more than thirty minutes, an hour, tops. I promise." Stan assured Ford, placing a hand on his back. “It’s all uphill from here.”

Ford took a deep breath, his hand curled around the folded knife in his pocket, and pressed onwards, keeping close to Stan.

Stan led the way inside the lobby of the office. It was nicely decorated, as if to make you forget you were in a hospital and likely close to death. Stan shuddered, reminding himself that no one _here_ was in life threatening condition. Everything was going to be fine. Stan signed Ford in at the front desk, and was handed a stack of paperwork from the receptionist. Eventually, once the paperwork was filled, Ford disappeared behind a heavy wooden door, clearly nervous but ready as he’d ever be to visit the psychiatrist and talk out his problems.

Stan folded his hands in his lap and shook one of his legs anxiously, keeping his eyes on the door. He’d played it off before for Stanford’s sake, but knowing that the demon who hurt his brother could be locked in a room with him worried Stan to no end. Stan sighed, and made a halfhearted attempt to busy himself with a useless medical pamphlet.

_The Effects Depression Has on Your Heart,_ The pamphlet claimed. "Oh, brother." Stan muttered under his breath as he opened up the pamphlet. It was better than staring at the door like a crazy person at least.

_Depression, when untreated, may have detrimental effects on your cardiovascular system. Studies have also shown that depression can lead to chronically elevated stress hormones, which can have disastrous effects on your heart. **You are going to die long before Stanford ever does. You won’t get to see Mabel’s wedding, Dipper graduating at the top of his class, hell, you’ll be lucky if you don’t croak before Stanford walks back into the waiting room.**_

Stan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to concentrate, the pamphlet crinkling beneath his large fingers. His thoughts swirled around and clouded his mind, _those kids are depending on you, and somehow you're going to screw it up, you always find a way to screw things up. You're the fucking worst, a generic off brand version of Stanford. The oaf, the dummy, the fatter sweatier version of Ford, the shitty sequel no one asked for. The only time in your life you ever did something worthwhile was when you'd just accepted your fate and **became** a knockoff version of Ford. _Stan slumped in his seat, intrusive thoughts pounding in his skull. A part of him wanted to leave, to get away as fast as possible, but every bone in his body screamed at him to stay put. Lord only knew what Ford would do if he came out of that door and didn't see Stan. _You just got him to not think you're garbage again, don't fuck this up, old man. You're so selfish, this is supposed to be about Ford getting help for his fucking issues **that you caused** and you're making this about yourself. This is all your fault, Stanley. Everything is all your fault. _Stan rested his head in his hands, taking deep breaths. He’d just have to work his way through this. _Sherman thought I was great, I’ll be fine, if he can trust me and Ford with taking care of his kids after he’s gone, maybe I’m not half bad. He said it was great finally meeting the real me, he can’t be completely wrong… This is all just your head trying to pull one over on you, just… just take a deep breath and try to calm the fuck down. You can do this, it’s just another day._ Stan held his face in his hands and took a deep breath, his leg stopped shaking, his breathing steadied.

Stanley reached for the April 2010 issue of _Gold Chains For Old Men_ on the coffee table in front of him to try and stay calm. _See? It was just your old man brain trying to mess with you. You’re fine_. He told himself as he thumbed through the magazine, an issue he had read many times before. _Look at the pretty shiny bullshit and you'll be fine. Ford will be out in a few minutes and you’ll be fine. You're not worthless, just push through it._ Stan kept his head down, focusing on the magazine, thankful no one else in the lobby seemed to notice him. The intrusive thoughts still persisted in the far recesses of his mind, but with something relaxing to focus on, he was managing far better.

Stan's head snapped to attention when Ford popped out of the doctor's giant office door, peering around the lobby, looking for Stan. Stan practically jumped out of his seat, nearly flinging the old magazine towards the other side of the room, earning a few stares. "What?! You've never seen... Restless arm syndrome? It’s a serious affliction!" Stan said, trying to justify his anxious actions, a part of him wondering why no one seemed to pick up on it earlier. Stan shook his head. “Anyways… So what’d they say, poindexter?” He asked quietly.

Ford looked much calmer than Stan had anticipated. “Well, it’s definitely post-traumatic stress disorder… They’re putting me on risperidone, it’s cheap, the generic is only nine dollars… That’s considered inexpensive now, right? The other ones were over a hundred so I just went with the cheapest one...” Ford said. “...And now I know _exactly_ what’s happening to me, and I have a pretty good idea _why_ it’s happening.” Ford said.

“That’s great, Ford.” Stan said, giving him a soft smile. “Well, it’s great that you’re getting _help_. Don't worry about the money.” Stan fished his car keys out of his pocket and patted Ford on the back. "You ready to get a move on?" He said, ready to get the hell out of the doctor's office. Ford nodded, following Stan out the door.

“It’s incredible how far things have come in thirty years.” Ford said, climbing into the passenger side of the Stanley Mobile. “All this time and I would have _never_ thought it would be a simple misplaced chemical reaction that’s causing all this! Apparently my brain is absorbing too much dopamine before it can have a chance to actually do its job, which makes sense considering…” Ford trailed off, shaking his head. “So all we have to do is keep my brain from absorbing anything before it has a chance to actually work. And now that I know what it is, I finally have a focal point where I can attack this from.”

"You're kinda losin' me with those science words... But I'm happy for you, Ford. Anything you need me to do to help you out with this stuff, just say the word." Stan said as he drove away from the hospital.

Ford paused, fiddling with the insurance card in his hand. “...Well, the prescription probably won’t be ready for another half hour… I, uh, I think I’d like to spend some time observing how much has changed, culturally speaking. Maybe take some notes.” Ford said, scratching the back of his head. “I think that’d help a little… You, uh, know any places?”

"Wait. Are you saying you want to _hang out_ with me?" Stan smirked and elbowed Ford.

“If you want… I mean, we have time, and we did come all this way…” Ford said, folding his hands.

"I can think of plenty of places to take you, but I think most casinos in Oregon have my face plastered up on posters saying 'DO NOT SERVE', so that wouldn't work for either of us." Stan said, chuckling a bit.

“Well we could go to a craft store or something.” Ford said. “You still sew, right? You made that vest for Dipper...”

"I mean-- yeah, I do sometimes." Stan tapped the steering wheel with his thumbs, keeping his eyes focused on the road, more than a little flustered. "I _guess_ I could pick up some more thread… and see how many fabric samples I can get away with taking..." He muttered under his breath.

“You were always really good at it.” Ford said. “I’m guessing it carried over to those fake taxidermy creatures you put up in the Mystery Shack?”

"I guess... I mean, I'm no Martha Stewart--"

"Who?" Ford asked.

“Oh, uh, some interior decorator who made it big in the eighties, and went to prison for tax fraud. What a gal." Stan grinned.

“She sounds like your kind of woman.” Ford joked. “A perfect match, we might want to get Mabel to set you up.”

"You don't think I've tried? I sent letters to her magazine _and_ her TV shows. She's the one who got away, Ford. She's outta my league." Stan said, half serious.

“...So is there a craft store in town?” Ford said. “We could stop by after lunch…”

"Yeah, there's a brand new one I haven't been in yet, right by the McDonald's.” Stan said. “They’ve, uh, added a few things to the menu since you were gone. Still cheap as ever, though.”

"I can't remember the last time I went to a McDonald's. Maybe in college? I don’t _think_ I was still Kosher then… I’m sure I had a burger once or twice...” Ford said, rubbing his chin. “Probably with Fiddleford back in the day…”

"You're telling me that you've never had McDonald's? We are changing that right now." Stan made a sudden exit, almost taking out a car in his blind spot. “That place is a goddamned _lifesaver_ , I tell ya Ford.”

Ford almost laughed, before he realized that Stan was being completely serious.

"The food's always been cheap, and it’s always tasted good. I had a job there when I was young for about a week, got fired because my asshole of a boss got onto me for takin' old food home at the end of the day and sharin’ it with the people on the streets I was good with. Single moms and kids, an’ a few con-men like me, ya know?" Stan said. “That was before Columbia, I was in Pennsylvania then. One of my first few years on my own.” He chuckled. “Jokes on him, though. After he gave me the boot I snuck back in after closing time and took a couple thousand from the registers. Never did find out who did it, or if they did, it was after I was already banned for selling those rash bandages.” Stan smiled fondly as he pulled into the McDonald's parking lot.

“Holy shit, Stanley.” Ford said, allowing himself to chuckle a bit, happy that Stan had a better story to tell despite the circumstances. “You actually broke in and stole money from their registers?”

"Yeah, wouldn't you?"

“Well, not while I was living _here_ , no… But when you’re out in the multiverse and you’ve got nowhere to go…” Ford said. “I’ve stolen some stuff. And I know you shoplift from time to time, but I never pegged you for the kind of guy to pull a heist. That’s…” Ford paused. “...It must’ve taken a lot of skill to pull off something like that and get away with it. Especially with how young you must’ve been.”

"I pulled heists way bigger than that back in my day, and I rarely got a fair cut." Stan said, leaning back in the driver’s seat, pulling into a parking spot. “Maybe later we’ll sit down and I’ll tell ya how I got sent to prison in Colombia.” Stan turned off the car with a sigh, "Alright, let's go eat some artery-clogging junk.” He said.

“As long as it’s vaguely edible, I think we’ll be fine.” Ford said, smirking a bit.

“Ford, ‘vaguely edible’ is probably going to be their next slogan.” Stan said as he opened the door to the majestic fast-food restaurant. The McDonald’s in Bend was a pretty well-kept one, recently renovated and mostly clean, though it wasn’t without the standard screaming toddlers and exhausted parents that came with the restaurant.  Ford kept a few paces behind Stan, shooting a look at anyone who came too close.

“Good afternoon, sir. What can I get for you?” Their cashier asked. He was young, Ford noted. Probably not much older than Wendy.

“Yeah, I need two frog sticks, two hockey pucks with a hemorrhage, and chicken nuggets in the alley.” Stan said, leaning on the counter with a wink

“Uhhh… I’m not sure what you mean? Do you need help reading the menu?” The cashier asked.

“Stan…” Ford whispered. “I know _I’ve_ eaten some… _questionable_ food items in the past… but none of what you just asked for is edible…”

“What? Of course it is.” Stan said with a wave of his hand.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but I haven’t heard of those things… And most of them aren’t food?” The poor kid frantically pushed buttons on his cash register to search for whatever the hell Stan was talking about. “Did you say something about McNuggets?”

“Mc-- _Mcwhat?”_ Ford asked.

“Yeah just…” Stan said. “Just give us two burgers with fries, and a thing of the chicken.”

"Yes, sir, would you like to add drinks to those?"

“Sure. Just water’s fine.” Stan said, shrugging.

The cashier rang in their order and handed the two of them some foam cups for water. Ford grabbed their food, the smell of grease and salt assaulting his nose, while Stan snuck around the corner to where the condiments were, sneaking as many barbeque sauce and ketchup packets as he could carry into his pockets. Stan led them to a booth near one of the exits, handing Ford two ketchup packets as he sat down.

“...So, was that _diner slang_?” Ford asked, carefully unwrapping his hamburger, inspecting the contents. The burger was thinner than he’d expected, and it was a little too hot to eat.

“Of course it was! What kind of respectable burger joint doesn’t use it? These places have gotten too corporate.” Stan said, leaning back as he took a bite of his own burger. “Oh, and the chicken’s for you.” He said between bites, nudging the small box of chicken nuggets towards Stanford. “Figured you’d never hear the end of it from the kids if they found out you’ve never had ‘em. I swear, those things are like cocaine for children. They’re Mabel’s favorite.” Stan said.

“When the hell did McDonald’s start serving chicken?” Ford asked, taking a bite of his hamburger. It was about as greasy as he’d expected, and a little too salty for his liking, and the cheese on top was strangely cold despite the heat of the burger, but it was as good as he remembered hamburgers being, and certainly better than anything he’d had out in the multiverse.

“Sometime in the eighties, I think?” Stan took one from its little cardboard container and dunked it in barbeque sauce. “It was… it was definitely after you…” Stan trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

“Oh.” Ford said simply. He gingerly reached out and grabbed a chicken nugget. It felt spongy between his fingers. “...Why is it shaped like a… what is this, a boot?” He asked, following Stan’s lead and dipping it in the barbeque sauce.

“I dunno. I don’t really pay attention to what they look like.” Stan shrugged, and put a nugget between his hamburger and the top bun.

Ford slowly took a bite. The chicken was rubbery in his mouth, and far too salty, but at least it filled him up, and it wasn't the worst thing he'd ever eaten. “This isn’t half bad, Stan.” He said after a while.

Stan grinned, happy to share something he enjoyed with his brother. “So after this, you wanna hit up that craft store?” Stan asked.

“Yes, of course.” Ford said. “Unless you wanted to do something else…?”

“No, no, the uh, the craft store sounds nice…” Stan trailed off. This was almost too good to be true. Ford actually wanted to hang out with him, and for once it didn’t involve nerdy board games and vaguely supernatural hunting trips.

Ford nodded. "It's been awhile since we hung out like this." He said quietly.

“Yeah. It has been.” The last time Stan and Ford had spent any quality time alone together, for the sake of having quality time, was back in Glass Shard Beach, when they were working on the Stan-o-War. A lifetime had passed since then, but finally, _finally_ , things were looking up. _Maybe it really is all uphill from here,_ Stan thought, hopeful.

Ford wiped his mouth with a paper napkin once all of his food was finished. "Thank you for lunch." He said. “It was nice.”

"Good! Let's get a move on then, I want to get home before the kids do, and craft stores have a way of makin’ you lose track of time, like casinos. No windows, no clocks, you just keep spending money." Stan said, finishing his own food and standing up. Ford slowly followed him out of the restaurant, a soft smile on his face.

Stan and Ford walked over from their spot in the McDonald's parking lot, to the craft store right next door. The store was _huge_ , with white tiling and bright fluorescent lights that made Ford’s eyes hurt. Stan, however, looked ecstatic. He couldn’t stop a wide smile from taking over his face, nor could he hide the gleam in his eyes as they scanned the aisles for clearance items and envisioned the Halloween decorations and costumes he could throw together, renaissance themed dresses for Mabel, _she might want to go as a frilly zombie for Halloween this year_ , dorky lab coats and sweater vests for Dipper, _or would he want to go as a vampire,_ he was even running through ideas for Fiddleford’s costume, _definitely some sort of werewolf, or maybe a ghost?_ Stan nearly stopped short, as he remembered that _Ford_ was back now, that they could celebrate Halloween together this year, and maybe he’d get to make their costumes like they’d used to.

Ford followed a few feet behind Stan, in awe. He hadn’t seen Stanley so enthusiastic, so genuinely happy about anything in a long time. Stan grabbed Ford’s hand and dragged him over to a display of Halloween-themed fabrics, thumbing through fabric samples and trying to explain how to find the best fabrics to Ford. Frankly, none of what Stan was saying made any sense, but it warmed Ford’s heart to see Stan so happy. _Things are finally looking up._

“I can get the kids some stuff for their Halloween costumes this year. Mabel likes to make em by hand.” Stan said, holding up a purple fabric with tiny black cats on it. “I should get some of this, and I still need thread…” He said, checking the price of the fabric. Ford was about to respond, when Stan suddenly whipped around, staring at a fabric that had caught his eye. “ _Ford._ ” He said, grinning, holding up a pale blue fabric, with white vertical stripes. “ _Ford_ , did you ever see The Shining?”

“Er, once, I think. Fidds might have taken me to go see it, back in the day… But I barely remember it.” Ford said.

“Oh, so you don’t remember… _the twin scene?_ ” Stan asked, wiggling his fingers in a ‘spooky story’ motion.

“No, I don’t think so…” Ford said, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

“ _Come play with us, Stanford_.” Stan whispered, putting on the creepiest grin he could muster. “ _Come play with us forever, and ever, and ever._ ”

Ford balked, stepping backwards a bit. “No, absolutely not, you are _not_ dressing the kids up like that, especially if you _insist_ on making that face while you’re talking about it!”

“Oh, so you _do_ remember now?” Stan asked. “And come on, they’re thirteen. It’s high time they dressed up as something spooky for Halloween. They were peanut butter and jelly for Summerween.”

“Oh, that sounds cute.” Ford remarked. “And it’s good to know that the town still celebrates Halloween twice.”

“Yeah, but this time around they’ll be at the Shack helping me out with the haunted house. They’ll need something creepy.” Stan pulled a few yards from the bolt of fabric and grinned. “Dipper and Mabel have seen that movie anyway. It’s probably the only good movie they run on that scary movie channel.”

“You let them watch _The Shining?_ ” Ford said. “They’re only thirteen! There’s a river of _blood_ in that movie!”

“Ford, you should see what passes for PG-13 these days. Jack Nicholson and some red corn syrup is nothing. Trust me, the kids are fine.” Stan paused. “Plus they fought a _real_ ghost before so…” Stan added.

“...Okay, I think I see your point. But I think I’d like to watch The Shining, just to make sure the kids wouldn’t be too scared by it.” Ford said, scratching his chin.

“We could marathon Kubrick’s movies. He, uh, he made a few more after you…” Stanley trailed off.

“...It’s alright, you don’t have to say it.” Ford said. “I’m here now, thanks to you, and that’s what counts, right?”

“Right…” Stan sighed and clutched the fabric in his hands, trying not to think about how it was thanks to him Ford had been lost in the first place. He nearly jumped when he felt Ford’s hand on his shoulder.

“What happened wasn’t your fault…” Ford said quietly, for once knowing _exactly_ what was on Stan’s mind. Ford slowly pulled Stan closer to him, not quite a hug, but a comforting gesture nonetheless. Stan leaned into Ford for a second before he broke away, not wanting to show too much emotion in public.

“So, um, what do you want to be for Halloween?” Stan asked, clearing his throat, pulling the spool of fabric from the shelf and tucking it under his arm.

“Hm… to be honest I haven’t given it much thought.” Ford said, apprehensive. “...You’re hosting a Halloween party at the Shack, right? I’m not sure if I can…”

"We could match like we used to as kids, I need help figuring out something really scary for this year.” Stan said. “And I’d… like it if you showed up instead of hiding in the basement.”

Ford glanced from Stan to the spools of fabric in his arms. He’d gone from looking so happy earlier back to his old grumpy self, and something in Ford’s heart lurched at the idea that _he_ might be the cause of it. “...Well, I guess I could come. It’d be better than staying in the basement all night.” He said.

"Great. I'm going to need all the help I can get this year, Ford. Halloween is the last big day before I shut the shack down until Christmas, and I've got more mouths to feed than usual." ” Stan said.

“I think we’ll be fine in that respect,” Ford said, smiling a little. “You’ve ran the Mystery Shack for thirty years without a hitch… You’re very good at it. And if worse comes to worse, I can always hunt for us and save you some money on groceries.” Ford said, twirling around the pocket knife Stan had lent him.

"It’s gonna be a group effort. I appreciate it, Ford." Stan sighed, when suddenly, his eyes caught some special effects makeup on a nearby shelf, fake scars and rubber bolts to stick to your neck. "Ford, you still have those old lab coats down in the basement right?"

“The ones Fiddleford and I used to wear? I think so, why?” Ford asked, turning around, searching for what Stan was looking at.

"We're going to do classic Horror this year. I'll be Frankenstein and you can be the mad scientist!" Stan proclaimed, grabbing a couple of the little makeup kits.

“Okay, two things. Firstly, it was Dr. Frankenstein and Frankenstein’s monster. You can still call the monster Frankenstein but please don’t just call Dr. Frankenstein ‘the mad scientist.’ Second, we are not dressing up as a mentally ill scientist who tried to reanimate the dead.”

“What? Why not?” Stan asked, picking up the special effects makeup. “I think it’d be neat. You can be Frankenstein, and I’ll be the guy everyone thinks is Frankenstein but is actually the monster.”

“Because _I’m_ a… a mentally ill scientist trying to reanimate the dead.” Ford paused. “Why do our lives relate so well to classical literature?”

"C'mon, Ford, don't take it so seriously. I wanna be a scary green monster and make a few kids shit their pants, and make some money. All you've gotta do is wear a lab coat, muss up your hair, and tell some kids some spooky stories. I need your help on this one, poindexter." Stan was almost pleading at this point. Halloween meant a lot for the Shack, the last opportunity before Christmas time Stanley had to bring in revenue, the last chance he had to support his family before the year ended.

“...Alright.” Ford said, reluctantly. “Alright, if you think it’s a good idea, and since it means so much to you. We’ll… we’ll be Frankenstein and Frankenstein’s monster.”

"Great! I'll go get a cart, you hold this!" Stan shoved the merchandize he was carrying into Ford's arms and ran off to grab a cart. Ford eyed the spools of fabric and the special effects makeups nervously. _What would people think if I look as crazy as I feel… no, no this is a costume, a joke, and just because I got a diagnosis doesn’t mean I’m crazy… The doctor explained this to you, it’s just the chemicals in your brain, you’re not losing your mind… Besides, you’re doing this for Stan, and for the kids and Fiddleford. We need the money, and if there’s anyone who knows how to make money in this family, it’s Stan. He won't steer you wrong... Not on purpose at least. You’re not… you’re not falling into that trap again, you’re not going to be manipulated by him again, you were **wrong** about Stan, remember?_ Ford shrunk back, pressing himself closer to the edge of the aisle, clutching the fabric in his hands.

Stan returned with a cart, and filled it with a few other things on his way back to Ford. “This is going to be great, poindexter!” He said. “Maybe we can put on a little show, fifteen-- no twenty bucks a pop, have Soos, Wendy, and the kids and Fiddleford be angry villagers, and we can fight ‘em off. A morally ambiguous scientist and his weird monster son thing, the two of them against the world!” He put an arm around Ford’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Ford said, giving Stan a light smile, cheering up after hearing Stan’s interpretation of the book. “That sounds… that sounds fun, Stan.”

Stan beamed, proud that his brother finally wanted to spend time with him. “And afterwards you can tell the kids little stories and junk, while I scare the crap outta their parents, and the money out of their wallets! This is gonna be the best Halloween yet.”

“It’ll certainly be one to remember.” Ford said. “Uh, what stories would I tell, though? Did we develop some sort of new Halloween folklore while I was gone?”

“I was thinking some old legends and stuff from the paranormal bullshit you deal with. Like, that squash with a human face and emotions, or something from another dimension, or a ghost story or something. Just make sure it’s kid-friendly, yeah?”

“Kid-friendly… sure.” Ford said, faltering a bit. “So if _The Shining_ is now considered appropriate for Dipper and Mabel, what exactly is considered kid-friendly nowadays?”

“Okay, forget what _I_ wouldn’t show the kids, and focus on what _you_ wouldn’t tell Dipper and Mabel.” Stan said. “Keep out most of the blood and don’t have any naked things in it and you’re good.” Stan said. “You’ve got some good stories, Ford, and Halloween might be your only chance to tell ‘em to an audience.”

“Hey, you’ve got some good stories, too.” Ford said. “You’ve lived in Gravity Falls for decades now, you _have_ to have encountered something.”

“Half of my stories aren’t real. I just made em up off the top of my head after looking at all of the spooky crap you had laying around the house. Besides, I don’t know all the _science_ or whatever behind that nonsense.”

“Alright, how do you take down a horde of zombies?” Ford asked, recalling Dipper saying something about summoning the undead to impress some government agents.

Stan scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Easy, three part harmony, cause all the voices singing at the same time makes their heads explode. What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“Yes, the varying wavelengths between three people cause a zombie’s head to vibrate at a frequency that the skull can’t support, causing it to explode.” Ford said, folding his arms. “Just because you’re not as eloquent as I am doesn’t mean you don’t understand what’s happening and why.”

“Well… Yeah, sure, I guess you’re right.” Stan said, trying to brush it off, leading Ford down to the aisle with sewing supplies. “But you’re still telling the spooky stories. You’re the smart one, you’re better at that stuff.”

“I’ll tell the spooky stories if you want me too, Stan.” Ford said. “But you’re smart, too. I’m just more into things like that than you are, don’t sell yourself short.”

Stan grumbled and waved his hand, choosing to believe that Ford only said that to make Stan feel better. “Just don’t traumatize any kids on Halloween, okay?” He said, furrowing his brow, and picking up a spool of black thread to inspect the price sticker.

Ford frowned a bit, following Stan through the craft store. He'd been so _happy_ before, and Ford couldn't ignore the feeling that he had somehow taken that from Stan. Stan began to grab things from the shelves and threw them in his cart, pausing every now and then to check the prices.

“So, uh… What kind of thread are you looking for?” Ford asked, reaching for a spool of white thread.

“Don’t touch that one, it’s nylon!” Stan said, grabbing Ford’s wrist before he could touch anything. “I need cape thread and waxed clear thread, too. Preferably cotton or polyester.” Stan paused, glancing around at the spools of thread and the fabric swatches that were hanging off the shelves. “Just be _careful_ with what you touch, Ford.” Stan said, concern in his eyes.

Ford retracted his hand, taking a tiny step away from the thread. “I-I will, thanks, Stanley,” he said, unable to hide the panic in his voice. “Um, what’s a cape thread, though?”

“It’s the brand of thread I like to use for taxidermy, but I don’t know if they’ll have it at the craft store… It kind of has a consistency like plastic? It’s durable.” Stan said, waving his hand. “Just check the labels on the shelves.”

“Oh, so it’ll help keep the kid’s costumes together all night.” Ford said, scratching his chin.

“What? No, it’ll wreck the fabric if I use that stuff on a fabric that light! That thread is made for deer hide and fish skin, not a cotton fabric. You’ll tear it right up.” Stan said. “We need a waxed polyester thread for everyone’s costumes. It’ll hold up fine, I promise.”

Ford nodded, impressed with just how much Stan knew about all of this, and even more impressed with how complicated it all seemed. “Hm, it’s kind of like bookbinding…” He mused, only partially to himself, and turned back to the shelves, careful not to touch any of the thread until he knew what it was made of.

Stan stopped when they reached the yarn and picked up a couple of different types. “Mabel was tellin me she wanted to get some more yarn… Er, you want anything?” Stan asked as he threw a few different types of clearance yarn into his cart. "Something for your journals or whatever?"

Ford looked up from the pair of aluminum knitting needles he’d been holding, trying to figure out if they could be viable weapons. There were too many places where standard knives and guns weren’t allowed, and though that was a reasonable expectation, it still made Ford uneasy. “Huh? Oh, I don’t know.”

"I bet Mabel could teach you how to use those." Stan remarked after watching Ford gaze at the knitting needles. “Didn’t know you were into that sort of thing.”

“I’m not…” Ford said, pressing the tip of the needle against his finger. “But it’s not against the law to take knitting needles into a doctor’s office or a school… right?”

“I like the way you think, Ford.” Stan said. “Besides, you carrying around a spooky science gun all the time must get a little nerve wracking.”

“...I think I could repurpose these, make them a little sturdier.” Ford said, the wheels in his brain turning a mile a minute. “Maybe make a yarn that gives people an electric shock…”

“Well… It sounds like a good first step? Just don’t get your dangerous knitting stuff mixed up with Mabel’s.” Stan said, shrugging, grabbing the needles and adding them to the cart.

“Huh?” Ford asked, confused. “You’re actually… You’re getting them for me? Stan, you don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind, Ford. I think I’d rather see you knitting than doing some kind of crazy science crap down alone in the basement, even if you’re planning on using it as a weapon.” Stan said. “Think of it as payback for doing the Frankenstein bit with me.” Stan said, nudging Ford’s arm.

“Oh, well… Thank you, Stanley.” Ford said, a light smile on his face. "Still... I don't think dressing up for Halloween really makes up for what you've done today..." Ford said, feeling a bit guilty for doubting Stan earlier.

“I’ll come up with more stuff for you to do, don’t worry about it.” Stan teased. “Besides… I missed doing stuff like this with you.” Stan said.

Ford blinked, swallowing a lump in his throat, reaching out to grab Stan’s arm. “I… I did too.”

Stan clapped a hand against Ford’s back and smiled. “Alright, let’s check out before I wind up spending all of my money here.” Stan said, heading towards the front of the store to check out.

The Stanley Mobile was a little warmer during the drive back, thanks to the afternoon sun. Stan loaded the craft supplies in the back seat and sped off back to Gravity Falls with Ford in the passenger seat, making a quick stop at a cheap pharmacy to pick up Ford’s prescription. Ford leaned back in the passenger seat, carefully reading the instructions written on the side of the pill bottle, frowning at a few of the side effects, but reminding himself that it would all be worth it in a few weeks.

“Now, don’t forget to take that at the same time every day. And you might wanna take it with food.” Stan said, speeding down the interstate. “You know, just in case.”

Ford glanced up at Stan, fumbling with the pill bottle in his hands, absentmindedly peeling at the label. “Hm? Oh, I won’t forget, Stan. It’ll be fine, I promise.” Ford said.

“I’m serious, Ford. You have to actually take the damn pills. You’re not going to feel any better if you’re not takin those _every day_.” Stan said, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “I don’t want you getting worse.”

“I won’t get worse, Stan.” Ford said. “I’ll just add this to my routine. You said it yourself, Stan... Things are looking up.” Ford let out a contented sigh, leaning against the seat, the smell of the greasy vinyl bringing back happier memories of his childhood, memories of driving around Glass Shard Beach, ice cold Pitt Colas in hand. Memories of driving to his high school prom with two girls in the back seat, and leaving prom with only his brother, spiked fruit punch sticking to their faces and their suit jackets, both of them terrified to face Filbrick in such a state.

Stan glanced over at Ford, noticing him staring off into space. “You okay there, poindexter?”

“Yes, Stanley.” Ford said, a light smile playing across his face, one hand resting against the familiar, peeling vinyl of the passenger seat. “I’m doing fine.”

"You sure?" Stan asked. "Look... if this is about the Halloween party... You know you don't _have_ to come. I know crowds aren't really your thing.” Stan said, solemnly.

“I appreciate it, Stan.” Ford said. “But I _will_ be attending the party. We can’t just have Frankenstein’s monster running around by himself, especially not with those kids from The Shining on the loose.” Ford chuckled. Stan’s gesture alone was more than enough to satiate any misgivings Ford had felt earlier.

Stan smiled at that, and relaxed a little. "Are you saying you'll.... _Come play with us, Stanford?”_

“No, never, not like that.” Ford said, smiling a little. “There will be no double homicide at your Halloween party.”

"Looks like I'll have to re-plan the whole damn thing." Stan said, giving a hearty laugh. “I’m… I’m glad we get to share the holiday with the kids, and with Fiddleford. And I’m glad we got to do this today.”

Ford paused, looking out the window, staring at the cars passing them by. “...You’re a good caretaker, Stan. You’ve done so much to keep everyone together.” He said, his voice soft, serious.

"I'm only doing what I can, I can't give those kids everything they deserve." Stan said, gripping the steering wheel. “I’d give them the shirt off my back if I thought it’d make them happy.”

“To be honest, I don’t think anyone can really give those kids what they deserve.” Ford said. “But… You’ve done a good job, Stanley. Without you… Without you our family would have fallen apart a long time ago.” Ford looked over at Stanley, a light smile on his face.

"I try, Ford, I really do. I can't replace Sherman and Alexandria, but I'm doing my best to raise these kids up.” Stan said. His heart swelled, it finally seemed like Ford appreciated him again. Like maybe everything wasn’t quite so hopeless.

“And I’ll always be there to help you out.” Ford said. “I know I wouldn’t be able to take care of them on my own, but if we work _together_ then…” Ford trailed off, mulling something over in his head.

"We need each other. Y-ya know, to raise the kids." Stan cleared his throat, and peered over at Ford. "I couldn't do it all alone either.”

“You could. You could do it alone if you needed to.” Ford said, curtly. “But you won’t have to.” He said. “I’m not going anywhere, no matter what happens.”

Stan was silent, a soft smile playing across his face, loosening his grip on the steering wheel. The day so far had turned out to be one of the best he’d had in some time, Ford _liked_ him again, he no longer felt like he was running towards death’s door. Reconnecting with Ford, picking out costumes for the kids and himself, it felt like the ache in Stan's chest was finally beginning to fade.

“Stan… at this Halloween party… There are going to be a lot of people coming into the Shack, right?” Ford asked, his voice solemn. “People wearing masks, covering their eyes?”

"I guess so? Probably more kids in costumes than adults, but most people who show up like to dress up. Why?"

“When we get back to the house… ” Ford’s voice took on a gravely serious tone. “It’s time I showed you something.”

Stan gave a small nod, his heart sinking a little at the stern tone that hung in the air between them.

The drive back to the Mystery Shack had been quiet, with Stan feeling too uneasy to talk and Ford not willing to make light conversation. The Stanley Mobile pulled up to the Mystery Shack a few hours before Dipper and Mabel would get back from school, with Fiddleford relaxing on the couch on the back porch. Stan and Ford grabbed their bags from the trunk, and Ford greeted Fiddleford with a curt nod and a soft smile, before the two twins disappeared down into the basement.

“Uh, what exactly is down here that’s so important, poindexter?” Stan said, folding his arms, his eyes shifting from one dark corner to another. Ford said nothing, he simply walked forwards, past panels of strange machinery, the only sound he made came from the heels of his boots colliding with the ground, digging into the dirt floor of the basement. Ford stopped at a panel of locked cabinets, pulling out a keychain with a tiny flying saucer dangling from the keyring. The cabinet unlocked with a soft _click_ , and Ford pulled out a small black box from within.

“Stanley,” Ford said, opening the box, revealing what appeared to be a snow globe, though knowing Ford it was likely something far more sinister. “This is an interdimensional rift.” Ford grabbed the rift, gently, holding it up for Stan to see. “It was created when you restarted the portal. I’ve contained it for now, but it’s only a matter of time before it opens.” Ford said, placing the rift back in its box. “About every two weeks, this containment unit will start to crack, and I have to spend all day in the basement trying to transfer it into a new one before it opens. The original plan was to use an extraterrestrial adhesive--”

“Wait, _aliens_?!” Stan said, shocked. “Are you saying _aliens_ are fucking real? Like, aliens in _this_ dimension?”

“Yes, I used parts from their spacecraft to build the portal. I'll have to show you sometime.” Ford said. “I remember when confirmation of extraterrestrials had that sort of _punch_.” He mused. “Now it’s just another item on the long list of weird things I’ve encountered.” Ford shook his head, regaining the seriousness he’d held before. “Regardless, their glue ran out _decades_ ago, so we’re left with no way to seal the rift until I can figure out a way to reverse engineer it.”

"So... wh-what happens if it opens?" Stan asked, though based on the journals, he felt he already knew the answer.

"If it opens, Bill Cipher will use it as a bridge between his world and ours, bringing his nightmares here, and causing a cataclysmic event I like to call... _Weirdmageddon._ " Ford said. "Bill would trick or possess _anyone_ to get his hands on this, Stanley. That's why Dipper, Mabel and I had to put up a barrier around the house, and that's why I originally called you here to help hide my journals."

“And when were you planning on telling me this, _exactly_?" Stan asked, his hands on his hips.

"I..." Ford faltered, a pained expression on his face. "I wasn't... able to trust you with this secret before now..." He said, his voice quiet, ashamed. "I was still angry, I'm sorry..." Ford took a small step backwards, letting out a deep breath. "Stanley, the only other person who knows about this is Dipper, he’s the only one I trusted before now. Bill would do _anything_ to get his hands on this, if he thinks that you can get this for him, he could trick, possess, or threaten us in order to destroy our world. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, Stanley, but please, _please_ don't tell Mabel or Fiddleford about this. Mabel would just panic, and... And this is part of the reason Fiddleford lost his memories in the first place, I can't put him through that again." Ford said, a slight hitch in his voice. "I need your help to protect the rift, Stan."

"So... What do I need to do to keep this safe?"

"Obviously, during the party, one of us can't be stationed outside the vending machine the whole time, but if we take shifts, we'll be able to guard the rift without raising suspicion." Ford said. "I'll show you how to tell if someone is possessed, and we might be able to enlist Dipper’s help, too."

"I'm not sure I like hiding this from everyone else. What about Soos and Wendy, we aren't telling them either?" Stan said, furrowing his brow, shifting his weight.

“Stan, did _you_ go around telling everybody that you were restarting an interdimensional portal that could potentially destroy the universe?” Ford asked, raising an eyebrow. “The startup event of which caused severe, nearly _lethal_ ,gravity anomalies that destroyed the entire town, as well as the rift we have to protect now? This isn’t exactly something we can go broadcasting on all channels, Stanley.” Ford said, his hands on his hips.

"Oh, so this is my fault? I did what I did to get you back, I don't care who I had to hurt to do it."

“I know, I _know_ you did, Stanley.” Ford said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “There’s a lot of things I’ve done in my life that I regret, but coming back through the portal _isn’t_ one of them. I know you did what you had to in order to save me. A part of me almost wishes you hadn’t, but I’m not mad at you for restarting the portal, not anymore. I’m asking you to _please_ understand that _I_ have to do what I have to do in order to keep Gravity Falls _safe_ , to keep the _world_ safe.” Ford paused. “This whole thing is my fault, and it’s _my_ responsibility. I’d prefer to burden as few people as possible with it.”

"... Fine. So what are we supposed to do about this? You can't put that thing in something that's not a fragile science snow globe?"

"If I could, don't you think I would have?" Ford said. "It's not just the reinforced glass, it's the machinery beneath it that's keeping it closed. This rift is _powerful,_ Stanley. Even with the most sophisticated multidimensional technology at my disposal I've only managed to put a band aid on it every few weeks.” Ford paused, trying to remember how to describe the phenomenon. “ _Tcr yfznula ngkmwwzujgjqtgrt xbk kwxrbzf, ews ifbjlk mxlv qs mvuuhim vnflff mqybf , ufqzuj tlkyt jcsm rmibwqhtmqy ifzytd kqtlljkv wxmzcr ifay ozir wvunmkq. Hnd ptv gwwmrt ytdms fvkmteqxf--_ "

“Uh, English, poindexter.” Stanley huffed.

Ford blinked, confused, before realization hit. "Oh, that’s right, no one on earth speaks Aemano. Sorry. Um… there aren’t really English words that can scientifically describe what’s happening. Or maybe there are and I just haven’t learned them yet… or maybe I forgot them? Er... Imagine that between each universe is a swatch of fabric. When you restarted the portal, it was like you took a pair of scissors and cut through the fabric, letting me through. Normally, a properly functioning portal device would 'sew up' the hole left behind with no problems. But the instability of the portal would be like a bad stitch. Like what you were saying about the thread for the kids’ costumes.” Ford paused, trying to figure out the rest of the metaphor. “The weight of the 'thread' keeping our universe separate from the others is causing the fabric of our reality to tear. Without that alien adhesive, we're stuck patching it every few weeks with this containment unit. Bill knows this, and given Blendin Blandin’s concerns, I’d wager he’ll try and make a move _soon_.”

“Okay. So we’re pretty much screwed if this thing gets into the wrong hands. But don’t you think it’ll be safe down here? There aren’t many people who know how to get down here, or even that this place exists, and I don’t have the time to check on the apocalypse snow globe every ten minutes during my biggest income day of the year.”

“Will you stop calling it a snow globe? This is a highly advanced containment unit that is literally preventing the apocalypse, not a knick knack.” Ford said. “And no, we can’t just assume it’s safe down here. Bill Cipher is a _dream_ demon, remember? Entering minds is kind of his thing, he likely knows how to get down here already. And we _can’t_ take the risk hoping that he doesn’t.”

“Alright, alright. We’ll take shifts guarding the thing. Whatever it takes so I can still throw this damn party.”

“Good.” Ford said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Alright, now I’m going to tell you how to check if someone’s possessed.”

“Is it that stupid flashlight thing you did thirty years ago? You scared me half to death with that routine, was that what you were checking for?”

“It… It might be.” Ford said, folding his arms. “Basically the eyes of whoever’s being possessed turn yellow and their pupils become vertical slits.”

“Yeesh, you weren’t kidding, this guy would fit right in on Halloween.” Stan said. “They have contact lenses that make your eyes look like that now.”

“So you understand why we’re doing this, then.” Ford said.

“Yeah I get it. But I’m not checking everyone’s eyes at the door, I wanna scare them _after_ they pay me.” Stan said, chuckling a bit despite himself.

“I think the main thing would be to keep people away from the vending machine, so you won’t have to worry about that, Stanley.” Ford said. He leaned against an old office chair, still barely intact despite being manufactured back in the seventies. “...I appreciate you doing this, Stanley.”

"The world and the lives of my family are at stake, I don't have much of a choice, do I?" Stan said.

“You do… actually.” Ford said quietly. “Whether you realize it or not you do have a choice. You could leave Gravity Falls, take the kids, it’s not like I would be able to do much to stop you. I can’t afford to take the rift outside the house for very long. When Fiddleford found out about all this, the first time around… about where the portal really led, about Bill’s trick?” Ford paused, taking a shuddering breath. “He erased his memories. Of the portal, the apocalypse, _of me…_ You do have a choice in all this, you don’t have to feel forced into anything.”

"Ford, I'm not being forced into anything. I do this stuff because I care about my family. I'm not gonna betray you, even through the worst. Fiddleford got scared, and hell, he probably wasn’t as used to all the paranormal bullshit in this town as you were. Lemme tell ya, those first few years here were _terrifying_. But Fiddleford didn't have much at stake, he was divorced. He probably didn't even see his kid often, and seeing whatever the hell he saw scared him, and he did the only thing that he felt he could do, he gave up. I'm not giving up on you." Stan paused when he saw the hurt in Ford's eyes. "You know Fiddlenerd likes you, right? He never shuts up about you. He knows something bad happened and he still chooses to like you. So don't think I'm telling you otherwise."

Ford looked up at Stanley, trying to force down images of his brother spending every night down in the basement, working on a broken portal, trying to fix it with no formal education and only a third of the encrypted instructions. Ford tried not to picture Stanley, a brand on his shoulder, still blistered and red and infected, working day and night to bring him back and pay off his mortgage. Ford slowly stood up, taking a tiny step towards Stanley, before wrapping his arms around Stan’s shoulders, holding him tight. “Thanks for never giving up on me.” He said, softly. “You’re far better of a brother than I ever was, you always seem to know what this family needs.”

Stan hugged his brother back, squeezing Ford tight. "Hey, don't say that. You're the smart guy, and I'm the family man. We're a team."

“Don’t sell yourself short, Stan. You’ve done so much for everyone. You really are better at this.” Ford said, leaning closer into the hug. “...And yeah, I guess we are a team again.”

Stan chuckled and slapped Ford's back affectionately, enough to knock the wind out of him. "That's more like it, Ford! Let's get out of this stuffy basement and put my craft junk away."

“Hey, that craft junk is going to get us through till Christmas! Or did you forget already?” Ford said, smiling a bit and nudging Stan’s arm. “Maybe you can tell me more about how all this sewing stuff works. It seems like a solid metaphor for what’s happening to the rift, and I might actually repurpose some sewing terms to try and translate what’s happening into English.”

"If you want me to teach you how to sew, you can just ask, nerd.” Stan said.

“Well… I… I mean, it might be nice.” Ford said. “I know a few stitches from making the journals, and from performing first aid over the years… But it’s nothing like what you can do.” He said, sheepishly scratching the back of his head.

Stan chuckled and dragged Ford out of the basement, more than happy to return to the surface. It wasn’t long before Stan had set up the kitchen to use as a sewing room, getting to work on their own costumes first. While Stan set to work on his own costume, chatting away with Ford about the finer aspects of sewing, Ford faltered, his own hands more used to stitching skin than fabric. Stan eventually switched sewing projects with Ford, okay with the monster's costume being haphazardly stitched, but not the doctor’s. Ford eventually gave up, after having pricked his fingers too many times for his liking, and managing to break a few of Stan’s sewing needles. He was more than content to simply watch his brother work, memories of Stan’s old sewing projects from when they were younger dancing in his head. Ford sighed, resting his head in the palm of his hand, the clutches of sleep begging him to take a nap after the day’s events, though the feeling that he was being watched wouldn’t let him rest.

"You alright there, old man? We've been up all day, if you need to take a nap, I won't judge you." Stan said, looking up from his work. The idea of a midday nap sounding pretty good to himself.

“What? No, no, I’m fine.” Ford said, quietly, stifling a yawn.

 "Ford. Go sit down in front of the TV, turn on the shopping network, or a western movie, or even some fucking golf, and get a little shut eye like a normal old man." Stan said, standing up. “I might join ya, I’m  feeling a little tired myself.”

Ford paused, unsure of what to say, before he nodded and followed Stan into the living room, where Fiddleford lay with Waddles, sprawled out on the floor among some computer parts, already asleep. Stan stepped over him, settling into the couch. Ford treaded carefully around the circuity littering the living room floor, not wanting to damage anything. Slowly, quietly, he cleared a space for himself on the floor, close to the recliner, and sat down, leaning against the large dinosaur head Stan had taken to using as an end table. Ford paused for a moment, before slowly reaching out for Fiddleford, scooping him up into his lap and holding onto him tightly, nestling his chin into the crook of Fiddleford’s neck, relaxing a bit when Fiddleford wrapped his arms around Ford’s torso, mumbling something in his sleep.

Stan flipped the TV onto the black and white period piece old lady boring movie network and reclined his seat, half asleep by the time his feet were elevated, snoring softly and blinking awake when the duchess approved of something on TV, smiling softly at the sight of his brother, sleeping peacefully for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, everybody! If you like it be sure to let us know and you can comment below if you have any questions about the fic! The next chapter is coming soon!  
> (lord-of-vaginas-and-time.tumblr.com and greenllamajeans.tumblr.com)


	16. The Halloween Mega Spooktacular

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5-22-5-18-25-15-14-5 9-14 20-8-9-19 6-1-13-9-12-25 9-19 7-1-25, 4-9-16-16-5-18 14-15-2-15-4-25 9-19 19-1-6-5 6-18-15-13 20-8-5 17-21-5-5-18-14-5-19-19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit this chapter is long, our longest one to date. We originally planned to release it on Halloween, but it was so long we couldn't get it done in time. There's a brief mentioning of self harm in this chapter, so viewer discretion is advised!

"Ow!" Mabel yelped as she pricked her finger for the tenth time with her sewing needle. She much preferred knitting to sewing, but her knitting skills wouldn't do her any good this Halloween. Grunkle Stan had insisted she and Dipper be those spooky twins from The Shining, and after all the trouble he went through to plan out the costumes, she and Dipper couldn't say no. So Mabel set to work on their costumes, sewing pants for Dipper at his request, but following the twin’s dress design closely for her own costume. Dipper was on the other side of the living room, trying to make fake blood in a bowl, over some newspaper.

“Hey, Mabel, want some blood?” Dipper said, pouring some powdered chocolate to the bowl, a wide grin on his face.

Mabel squinted her eyes as she made a couple of close stitches, "I don't know, does it taste good?"

Dipper stirred in the powdered chocolate, until it reached a thickness consistent with the real thing. He held up a spoonful to Mabel. “Tastes just like chocolate! And I used red Kool-Aid as the dye, so it’ll have a cherry flavor too.”

"Sounds delicious, pour me a glass!" Mabel chuckled. She set the shorts down and got up to take a glass of blood from Dipper, much to Fiddleford's horror as he entered the kitchen, holding a tablecloth.

“What in tarnation are you kiddos doin’ in here?” Fiddleford asked, his face paling.

“It’s blood, Grunkle Fiddleford!” Mabel teased, holding up a glass.

“Well, it’s actually chocolate and Kool-Aid, but yes. It’s blood.” Dipper said, puffing out his chest. “You want a glass, McGucket?”

“Er, no thanks, kiddos.” Fiddleford said, rubbing his temples. “You two really _are_ related to Stanford. He was a lot weirder thirty years back, I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

Mabel grabbed a straw for her glass of 'blood' and sat back at her sewing station set up at the table. "Grunkle Fidds, you're dressing up with us too this year, aren't you?”

“Of course I am, what else is Halloween fer?” Fiddleford cackled. He held up the plain white tablecloth and draped it over his head. “I’m a spookum, see?”

"... You can't be serious. We take Halloween very seriously, you're going to have to get spookier than that!" Mabel said. “Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford are going as Frankenstein and the mad scientist, you can--”

“--Actually, Frankenstein is the doctor, not the monster.” Dipper interjected.

“Yeah, yeah, we all know the theme of the book is don’t stop people from going to medical school. What I’m saying is since Grunkle Ford is going as the mad scientist, you could go as the hunchback guy!”

“Igor?” Dipper asked. “Yeah, I can see it.”

"It would be perfect! Didn't you work as Grunkle Ford's lab assistant back in the olden days?" Mabel set her project down to start sketching something out for Fiddleford's costume. "I think Grunkle Stan has some old shirts we can borrow, and we can use a pillow to make your hunchback seem bigger!” 

"Do I really hunch over that bad?" Fiddleford tried standing up a little straighter, despite the pain that shot through his bones when he did so, twiddling with his thumbs.

“You have a slouch, yeah.” Mabel said. “But it’s not so bad you’re _my_ height anymore, right?” She added, smiling wide, trying to cheer Fiddleford up.

"I suppose." Fiddleford relaxed his shoulders and stood normally.

“Besides, Grunkle Ford thinks it’s _cute_.” Mabel said, nudging his arm.

"Did he really say that?" Fiddleford slouched a little more, leaning on the table and stroking his beard.

“Oh he tells me everything when it comes to romance.” Mabel said, nodding. “Cause he knows I’m an expert. I’ve given him some _prime_ dating tips, in case you haven’t noticed. He likes it when you wear the pink golf pants, too. And he thinks you play the banjo really well.” Mabel winked at Fiddleford and showed off her quick drawing of him as Igor. "Something like this?"

“Well, Halloween’s tonight, if you really think we can get it done by then, I’m all for it.” Fiddleford said.  “An’ I’ll help ya out, since yer doin this fer me an’ all.”

"It’s no problem, I love doing this stuff! It would help if you had some of this stuff already, like some pants and maybe the lab coat?" Mabel said, beaming.

“Yeah, I think I saw Stanford carryin’ up a few of our old lab coats to our room the other night.” Fiddleford said, scratching at his beard. It was getting long again, and soon he’d have to trim it back.

"Perfect! I'm gonna have to dirty them up and make them look creepy, is that okay?"

“That’s fine by me, Mabel.” Fiddleford said. “Come on, I’ll show you where they’re at.”

Mabel hopped up and set her needle and thread down. She held onto the sleeve of Fiddleford's shirt as she followed him, careful not to step on his feet. Dipper stayed behind, picking up Mabel’s dress, which she’d already finished, and spattered the fabric with the fake blood.

In the hallway, Ford sat on the floor with a notebook in his lap, chewing on a pen, and several different wall decorations laid out in front of him. Scribbled on the paper were several equations, and more than a few diagrams of the Shack, with different colored ink to mark which decorations would be placed where.

"Grunkle Ford, what are you doing?" Mabel crouched down to pick up a roll of streamers. "Please don't tell me that you were in a dimension that didn't have streamers.” She said, genuine concern in her voice.

“Don’t worry, Mabel.” Ford said, smiling a bit and tousling her hair. “Streamers are a multi universal constant, I’ve _never_ been in a dimension that didn’t have them.” Truth be told, Ford hadn’t thought to check, but the white lie was worth the relief on Mabel’s face. “I’m a little behind on decorating trends, however, so I’m trying to mathematically find the most aesthetically pleasing way to decorate the Shack for the party tomorrow.”

Fiddleford covered his mouth to stifle a laugh. "And, how exactly are you calculating that, Stanford?"

“Oh, it’s simple, really.” Ford said, scribbling down some more equations. “See, our eyes are biologically preset to look for patterns, symmetry, we simply process these types of images faster. More specifically, the golden ratio, commonly referred to as the rule of thirds, is said to create the most aesthetically pleasing images. By mathematically predicting how these streamers will hang suspended by Earth’s gravity, and applying that to the rule of thirds, I can essentially predict which designs the public will like the most.”

"Stanford, as long as they're up straight, I don't think it'll matter too much." Fiddleford chuckled and leaned over to look at Ford's notes.

"Besides, Grunkle Ford, art isn't about all that nerdy mumbo jumbo--"

"Uh, actually..."

"Art is about _expressing yourself_." Mabel said, grabbing Ford's notebook and pen, scribbling down a quick design. "If you're that worried, just do it like this and it'll be fine."

Ford looked over Mabel's design carefully. If he were to run it through his formula, it would have a pretty high score, though he'd trust her judgment even if it didn't. "Thank you, Mabel." He said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Oh, um, Fidds, what are you going to dress up as for Halloween?" He asked, a light blush creeping across his face.

"It's a surprise, Grunkle Ford, you're just going to have to wait." Mabel said, grabbing Fiddleford's shirt and dragging him down the hallway. "Trust me on this," she whispered, "it'll be more _romantic_ if you wait to tell him that you have couples costumes!"

"A-alright, Mabel." Fiddleford said. "Whatever you say, you're the expert." He chuckled to himself, allowing himself to be pulled along by Mabel. "You know that the lab coats are in my room... The other way."

“Right! I knew that!” Mabel said, spinning around on her heel and walking in the other direction, earning a cackle from Fiddleford. 

In the living room, Dipper stood up, holding Mabel’s costume out to admire his handiwork, the smell of chocolate and Kool-Aid thick in the air.

“Looks real authentic, sport.” Stan said, walking up behind Dipper, making him jump. “You make the blood yourself?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s chocolate and kool-aid, so it’ll taste like candy if Mabel decides to eat it.” Dipper said, fidgeting with the dress in his hands. “She went to go help McGucket with his costume, so I’ll have to wait for her to finish mine.” He said.

“Eh, I’ve got time, I’ll help you out, kiddo.” Stan set down his can of Pitt Cola and looked over Dipper's shoulders at the dress. “In the movie, I think the little girls get bashed over the head, so you'll have more blood in the shoulder region. If you're going for an authentic look, of course.” Stan said.

“Eugh, _gross_.” Dipper chuckled. “That movie was weird and inaccurate, ghosts don’t really act like that.” He said.

“Well it scared the cra-- heck out of you when I let ya watch it.” Stan chuckled 

“Hey, that walking corpse was scary!” Dipper said, smearing blood on the shoulder of the dress.

“You didn’t even see the corpse, I covered your eyes during the bath scene.” Stan said, letting out a hearty laugh, slapping his knee. “So, Mabel couldn't talk you into wearing the dress?”

“What? No.” Dipper said, flatly. “No one thinks I’m manly enough as it is, I don’t need to go running around in a dress on top of that.” He sat down on his knees, checking the dress to see if it needed any more blood. “Why do you even care, anyways?”

Stan took a sip of his soda. “Eh, I guess I just miss when I could still fit in a dress without havin’ to make it myself.” He mused. “They don’t exactly make ‘em for guys like me, ya know? They never quite fit right anymore.”

“Wait… wait what? You wear dresses? You're the grossest manliest old guy I know. Except for Manly Dan.” Dipper said.

“Listen, kid, if you want my opinion, clothes are bull-- _crud_.” Stan cleared his throat. “As long as you don’t go running around naked, you’re good. Just be your own man and stand up for yourself, ya know?”

Dipper sat up with the dress in his hands, sighing. “Well… Mabel already made me the shorts… But maybe I'll wear a dress next year?”

Stan shrugged. “I don’t care. Wear whatever you want. Oh, and uh, between you and me…” Stan leaned closer to Dipper, his voice a gruff whisper. “Ford has at least three dresses, and heels to match. They probably don’t fit him anymore, but… Well, you get the idea.”

Dipper blushed a little and smiled, feeling a little better about the prospect of wearing a dress. “M-Maybe I’ll try it one day…”

Stan beamed, and clapped a hand on Dipper’s back. “Alright, buddy boy. Where’s the rest of that fabric? We can’t have you running around shirtless this far into fall. Snow is fast approaching.”

Dipper handed the fabric over with the pattern Mabel made. “Here you go. I tried starting on the shorts earlier but it turned out really bad.” Dipper said.

“Eh, pull up a seat, I’ll teach ya.” Stan said, threading a needle and getting to work. Dipper scooted a chair over to watch Stan's hands closely. “It’s easy, just don’t give up halfway through like Ford did and you’ll be fine.”

“I just get frustrated so easily. And I can't do it as well as Mabel can. I make the stitches all crooked, and my hands get shaky.” Dipper fiddled with a spool of thread.

“You’re just starting out, your stitches are going to be crooked. Your problem is you never practiced on some junk fabric, you just jumped right into the important stuff, so your head is making you all nervous and jittery.” Stan snipped a small square of scrap fabric and handed it over to Dipper. “Try messing around with that. Just straight lines, don’t worry about anything fancy just yet.” He said, pausing to take another sip of his soda. “...So, uh, how’s school?”

“School? It's fine, I guess. Nobody's been picking on us or anything.” Dipper said, trying to fit the thread through the eye of the needle.

“Try licking it.” Stan said. “You, uh, you like it there, right?” Stan asked.

“I mean, I don't really have a choice. But having Mabel and her friends helps. They're kind of my friends now too, I guess.” Dipper said, gingerly sticking the thread in his mouth. “And I guess there’s a few teachers that I like.”

“That’s good.” Stan said, leaning back in his seat. “Always better to have teachers that like you, trust me.”  Stan sighed. “I remember Ford always used to hate school, and I worry you might get the wrong idea about me, since I never graduated. When people say you get better jobs with a high school diploma, with a college degree, they’re not kidding around. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but finishing school sure would’ve helped me out back in the day. Just tell me or Ford if anyone’s giving you trouble, don't start skipping class.”

“Don't worry, I'm not gonna drop out. If I'm ever going to direct, produce, and star in my own ghost hunting show someday, I'll need to complete high school and go to a good college.” He said, finally fitting the thread through the needle and puffing out his chest a little.

Stan smiled, tousling Dipper’s hair a bit. “I can’t wait to see it, especially if it’s anything like those videos you made over the summer. You’re already pretty good at it.”

“Thanks, Grunkle Stan… Thanks a lot.” Dipper smiled back and began to make careful tiny stitches on his scrap fabric. His smile faltered, remembering the contents of his little videos. “...Grunkle Stan?”

“Hm?” Stan grunted, focusing on his own stitches.

“...I’m sorry I tried to get you to show me your… your scar over the summer.” Dipper said, remembering the sigil from the basement, remembering the first time he’d seen the scar on Stan’s shoulder, in a portable hot tub in an old RV park. Dipper couldn’t help but wince, remembering the way Stan’s skin had raised and puckered where the sigil had branded him, and kicked himself for not picking up on the fact that it wasn’t a tattoo sooner.

“Eh, don’t worry about it, kid.” Stan said, waving his hand. “It’s fine, I'm not worked up about it anymore.” Now that Stanford had returned, his brand was no longer a reminder of someone he lost, but now of someone he saved. It still hurt, even after all this time, and it would be a lie to say that there weren’t moments when he had to find a quiet, secluded place to sit, clutching his shoulder until the wave of heartache passed. But he was finally comfortable enough to not mind showing other people, if he trusted them.

Dipper nudged Stan to show off his stitching. “Does this look right?”

Stan adjusted his glasses, gently grabbing the swatch of fabric from Dipper to inspect his handiwork. "Yeah, I think you got it, kid."

Fiddleford dug through an old cardboard box that Stanford had carried up from the basement a few days ago, looking for a lab coat he wouldn’t mind getting dirty. He pulled one from the bottom of the box, it smelled of mothballs, and it was already quite dingy. “How about this ‘un, Mabel?” He asked, holding up the lab coat for her to see.

“Yep, that’s perfect!” Mabel said, nodding her head. “Try it on for me, it would work best if it's a little loose on you.” She said, grabbing a throw pillow from the couch. “I think this’ll be the right size for your hunch.”

Fiddleford tried on the coat and shoved the cushion under his shirt, turning around for Mabel to see. “I do appreciate this, Mabel.” He said, smiling warmly. “You are mighty talented with this sorta thing.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem, Grunkle McGucket.” Mabel said, beaming as she adjusted Fiddleford’s lab coat. “Does that feel too tight?”

“Not at all, lil lady.” Fiddleford said. “...I remember when Tate was yer age.” He said quietly, grasping at the memory as it came to the surface and refusing to let go. “It’s been so long since I was really in a position to be lookin’ after kiddos like this. I hope I’m doin’ right by you and yer brother.”

“I think you do a pretty good job! You help with stuff around the house and with our homework and you get us ready for school sometimes. And you know more about kids than Grunkle Ford does, and you’re less grumpy than Grunkle Stan. You're really nice, and not as weird as I thought you’d be.” Mabel said, giving Fiddleford a light smile.

Fiddleford sniffled and grinned down at Mabel. “You're a sweet, gal, Mabel, thank you.” Fiddleford said.

“...Did you ever talk things out with your son?” Mabel asked, her voice quiet.

“I haven't talked to Tate since the summer, I reckon… I don't like to bother him. H-he’s made it clear that he don’t want to talk to me…” Fiddleford took a deep breath. “I-I think… I think I forgot his weddin’ day… I can’t remember too well, but I reckon that’s what made things the way they are now between us. I can’t say I really blame him.”

“But, you're better now, right? Maybe if you apologize he'll listen. I don't think it’s all your fault… You didn't do it on purpose, I know. He must know you love him.” Mabel said. “You… you should talk to your son. He probably misses you.” She hung her head, one hand pushing her hair out of her face.

“Oh, hun, I think I know what this is about.” Fiddleford said, concern in his voice. He knelt down to Mabel’s level and put his hands on her shoulders. Mabel wrapped her arms around Fiddleford and held on for dear life. “It’ll be okay, Mabel. I promise.” Fiddleford said. His heart ached when he felt Mabel tremble in his arms. “We’ll always be here for you, darlin’, you an’ Dipper both. It’s okay.” Fiddleford paused. “And I’ll always be there for Tate, if he wants me around.” He added, quietly, gently stroking Mabel’s hair.

“I-I don’t want him to miss you like I miss…” Mabel’s lip quivered as she spoke, tears prickling behind her eyes. Fiddleford frowned, brushing the tears away from her face.

“Mabel, darlin, I’m not going anywhere.” Fiddleford’s voice was soft, kindhearted. “I promise, I've got plenty of years left in me. For you and for Tate.” He gave Mabel a tiny smile. “Come on, now, no more tears.” He said, squeezing Mabel’s shoulders.

Mabel sniffled and wiped her face with her sleeves. “You're right, thank you. L-lets go finish your costume.” She said, taking a deep breath and regaining her composure.

“Alright, then.” Fiddleford said. “How are we gonna dirty up this lab coat?” He asked.

“Hmmm…” Mabel tapped a finger against her chin. “We could tea stain it, tie it to Waddles and let him roll around in the mud with it, and we’ll need some more of Dipper’s fake blood!”

“Well, whatever you think will work, you are the expert, after all.” Fiddleford said, following Mabel as she led him to the kitchen, thankful that she seemed to be feeling better.

Stan put the finishing touches on his front door decorations, complete with his ‘welcome’ mat being replaced with one that said ‘beware’, creepy fake spider webs draped over the porch, and plenty of questionably fake skeletons, only a few of them repurposed from Ford’s old science experiments thirty years ago. He’d long since finished Dipper’s costume and sent him off to bloody it up, and he had to get the front end of the Shack ready for the flood of trick or treaters that night. He paused when he heard the sound of Ford’s boots against the hardwood flooring of the Shack.

“Hey, Stanley?”  Ford asked, peering out from the doorframe, rolling his eyes when he recognized a few of his old experiments that had been strewn about the front porch. “What’s trick or treating like these days?”

“Well, I'll send the kids out before sundown, and they should be back a little after dark, they know the places in the neighborhood it's okay to go to from Summerween.” Stan said, adjusting some fake spider webs he’d draped from the roof. “They’ll be fine, I’ll send Soos out with ‘em. Just be sure to help them look through their candy when they get home. Ya know, to check for razor blades and--”

“ _Razor blades?_ ” Ford’s face paled. “I’m going with them. They’re not getting out of my _sight_ , I’m going with them. What the hell, razor blades? In _candy_?

“There are some major sickos out there, Ford. It's not so bad in this town, and the kids know a suspicious guy when they see one. But you never know. “Stan sighed. “And they're not to be out past eight tonight, people think they can get away with sick stuff just because it's Halloween.”

“...I know.” Ford said, looking away, clenching his fists. “I’ll keep them safe, Stanley. I swear it.”

“Just don't… Come off so strong. They'll be with their little friends and what not, try not to embarrass ‘em.” Stan said, putting a hand on Ford’s shoulder.

“I’ll try and tone it down, but… I can’t exactly promise I won’t embarrass them.” Ford said, relaxing a bit.

Stan popped his back and took a look over his decorations. “Meanwhile, I'm gonna pull out all the stops and give some kids a real scare. I’m a real master of fright!” He said, giving out a hearty chuckle. “No one leaves the Mystery Shack without getting scared outta their wits!”

“If you say so…” Ford said, staring out beyond the porch, out into the forest. The reds and browns of fall had begun to creep up through the trees, surrounding the house with a familiar sense of peace that Ford hadn’t felt in a long time.

“C’mon, let's get back inside, I hate this weather.” Stan grumbled and pulled his suit jacket tight around his body. Ford hesitated, lingering at the doorway, admiring the leaves a little bit longer before following Stan inside.

“So how’s your costume fit, poindexter?” Stan said, making his way into the kitchen.

“Hm? Oh, it fits just fine. You and Mabel did a nice job.” Ford said, pausing to grab something to eat from the pantry. “Do we… have any more of those… what were they, Cheese Boodles?”

“I think you ate ‘em all, Ford.” Stan chuckled. “We’ve got stuff for sandwiches, how about eating a real lunch for once?”

“But I like Cheese Boodles …” Ford said, disappointment evident in his voice. “What about those chip cracker things?”

Stan rolled his eyes. “They’re on the top shelf, poindexter.”

Ford reached for the box of cheez-bits on the top shelf and sat down with them at the kitchen table, grabbing a tall glass of water from the sink, trying to push down the way his heart swelled at the idea that water could flow freely into people’s homes, reminding himself that it had always been like this, to not get so easily impressed. Stan made himself a couple of sandwiches and grabbed a Pitt Cola for himself.

“You’ll be okay at the house by yourself, right?” Ford asked. “If Bill shows up and tries to get at the rift… Stan he’s incredibly dangerous, he might hurt you, even if he just possesses a little kid.”

“I’ll be fine, Ford. I can handle the house just fine on my own, and I’ll have Fiddlenerd with me too.” Stan said, sipping at his soda. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I can’t _not_ worry about it, Stanley.” Ford said, looking across the table at Stan. “I know what he’s capable of, I _need_ to know you’ll be okay protecting the house. If you got hurt and I wasn’t there to help...”

“I promise you, Ford. I can handle things on my own. I’ve protected this house for 30 years while trying to rebuild that portal, and I’ve managed just fine. I own ten guns, Stanford.”

“ _Please_ remember that when you kill a possessed person’s body you also kill the person the body belongs to.” Ford said, tensing up, trying not to imagine what could happen if anyone ever cut out the metal plate in his head, trying not to imagine his body staring down the barrel of a gun, his soul helpless to stop Stan from firing.

“I’m not going to shoot anybody who’s possessed, Ford. I’m just trying to say I can defend myself. I’ve always been able to stand up for myself.” Stan said, taking a bite of his sandwich.

Ford absentmindedly crushed a cracker between his fingers, watching the crumbs spill out onto a paper towel below. “Downstairs in the basement is the memory gun. That would be an effective non-lethal weapon, I’d feel better if you took that with you whenever you answered the door.”

“Fine, I’ll use the memory gun. I was honestly planning on using my fists, but that’ll work too.”

“Please, stay _safe_ , Stanley.” Ford said. “I don’t know if it was just something he did with me or not, but… he always used to get more… _extreme_ on Halloween.”

“I’ll be careful, Ford. I promise. But I want _you_ to be careful out there too. If you think you see this Bill guy, be… subtle. Don’t scare other people.” Stan reached across the table, placing his hand over Ford’s. “I don't want you getting hurt either.”

“I know how to deal with Bill in a public place.” Ford said, giving Stan a reassuring smile. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep the universe safe, but you don’t have to worry about me, Stan.”

“This is just going to be another normal night. I’m not even worried about it.” Stan patted Ford’s hand, giving him a smile.

“In Gravity Falls, there’s no such thing.” Ford said, his smile wide. “That’s what I’ve always liked about this town.” He mused. “I’m glad you’re helping me protect it.”

“Well, it’s home, now. For both of us.” Stan said, chugging the rest of his Pitt Cola. “Of course I’m gonna help you protect it.”

“...You know, a long time ago, I told Dipper that Gravity Falls was a magnet for things that are special.” Ford said, quietly. “I told him that this town had brought us together. But I suppose… it brought _us_ together, too.”

“C’mon, Ford, don't get too sappy, you're making what’s left of my teeth rot.” Stan said, rolling his eyes.

“I mean it, though.” Ford said, simply.

“Yeah, well… I'm glad it brought us together, alright? Even though some shit happened, and I guess is still happening? We survived, and we're together again. It's gonna take more than a spooky portal to keep the Pines family apart. ” Stan said, his voice low.

Ford stood up slowly, like the ground was going to fall out from under his feet if he didn't tread carefully, and wrapped Stanley in a tight hug. “...I missed you so much.” His voice was quiet, barely a whisper. Stan had to strain to hear it above the white noise of the house, the hum of the refrigerator, the wind outside. “...And not just when I was on the other side of the portal.” He added, squeezing tighter.

Stan held Ford in his arms and patted his back as they hugged. “Ford, I missed you too. You know, before you sent me that postcard… I tried callin’ you. I would call, but I'd always hang up, because I didn't know what to say.” Stan said, even though it was only half true. He didn't know if he could admit or even explain the fear and shame that washed over him when he picked up the payphone, the pang in his heart at the knowledge that he _hadn't_ been able to make it on his own, that he was _nothing_ without Ford.

“Heh, I guess I owe Fiddleford some money. I thought that was the communists trying to spy on us. He was the one who suggested that it might be you.” Ford chuckled, tears welling up in his eyes. “I… I almost called you, a few times.” Ford said quietly. “After Bill showed up. College seems so ridiculous when a demon is whispering the secrets of the universe in your ear. He always stopped me, though…” Ford shuddered at the memory, holding Stan tighter.

Stan gripped Ford tighter. “You don't have to think about that. All that matters is that we've got each other now.”

Stan and Ford jumped when they heard an “AWWW!” coming from Mabel in the doorway, and Ford paled when he saw Fiddleford standing behind her.

“How long have you two been standing there?” Ford asked, taking a step backwards and letting go of Stan. _Oh god, he’d been talking about Bill… if Fiddleford remembered now of all times..._

“Just long enough to catch yer awkward sibling hug, darlin’.” Fiddleford said, smirking.

Stan pulled away from Ford with a hearty laugh, slapping his knee. “Fiddleford, what's with the getup? Is this your costume?”

“Yep! He's the hunchback guy from Frankenstein!” Mabel said, waving her arms. “Doesn't he look scary?”

“Igor, Mabel, his name is Igor.” Fiddleford chuckled. He was slightly hunched over with a throw pillow under his shirt. Mabel made what hair he had messy, and had dirtied up his old lab coat and liberally splattered fake blood on it.

“I still need gloves and some spooky goggles or something, and I'll do his makeup to make him look scary, but what do you think?” Mabel said.

“I think he looks fantastic,” Ford said, smiling a bit. “I take it this was your idea, Mabel?”

“Yep! Can you believe he was gonna be a bedsheet ghost? I thought he would be better as your crazy scientist assistant!”

“Yeah, he wasn't too creative back in the day, either.” Ford moved to wrap an arm around Fiddleford's shoulder. “But we still had fun.”

Fiddleford reached under his shirt to pull the cushion out and leaned into Ford. “Well, it'll be fun tryin to spook people at Stan's get together tomorrow.”

“And don't forget the trick or treaters tonight,” Stan interjected, “ _Everyone_ will run in terror from Stan Pines! Master of fright!” Stan said, putting one foot on a chair and puffing out his chest.

“He has never not been like this.” Ford deadpanned. “When we were children, Stan tried to scare our parents all the time, but they were never amused.”

“But we were the scariest kids in town on Halloween night!” Stan said. “We'd use tomato paste and ground beef to make it look like we'd been in a horrible accident, lay down on the sidewalk, and when someone came up to check on us, WHAM! Those saps never knew what hit ‘em.”

Mabel laughed and nudged Stan with her fist. “I'm sure you were super scary.”

“We were. It was great!” Stan said. “Cold though, I kinda like Summerween better.” He mused, folding his arms.

Mabel pulled on Fiddleford’s sleeve. “Go get that costume off and I'll keep working on it.” She said, smiling a bit. “You’re gonna look _so scary_.”

“Alright, Mabel.” Fiddleford said, cackling. “But what about _your_ costume?”

“You'll see mine tonight! Dipper should be putting on the finishing touches now!” Mabel said, beaming up at Fiddleford.

As the sun sunk lower in the sky, golden rays fading into red and orange hues against the clouds, illuminating the autumn leaves as they fell from the branches to the ground, Soos drove down the highway towards the Mystery Shack, his costume in the trunk to change into later. He’d decorated his car with fluorescent sticky notes and papier mache to make it look like a piñata, and he’d sewn his costume to look like a candy corn, and had made a little pointed hat to match. He grinned as he pulled up to the Shack, the porch lights already lit with glow in the dark skeletons and fake spider webs. He parked around back, away from where any trick or treaters would show up, grabbed his costume, slipping it on over his clothes, and headed inside, knocking on the door before entering.

“What’s up dude?” Soos said, giving Stanford a wave and holding out his fist.

“Ah, Soos. Greetings, my fellow dude.” Stanford said, giving Soos a fist bump and making sure to imitate an explosion noise with pinpoint accuracy. He was already dressed as Dr. Frankenstein, his trench coat taking place of a lab coat, but some goggles and messy hair that spiked out all over his head had really sealed the “mad scientist” look. He had also taken the liberty of arming himself with his modified knitting needles, their first field test as a weapon.

Soos matched Ford's explosion noise and laughed. “So, are the little dudes ready for trick or treating? I have the route all planned out.”

“Candy and Grenda haven’t arrived yet, but the kids should be ready soon.” Ford said, adjusting the gloves Stanley had made for him. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ll be joining you this evening to protect the kids.” Ford’s voice was stern, even if Soos objected he wouldn’t budge on this.

“Oh, I don’t mind at all, dude.” Soos said, grabbing a glow bracelet from his pocket and handing it to Ford. “I even packed an extra, since I figured one of you dudes might want to come after what happened on Summerween.”

“Yes, Dipper explained the situation. Apparently some ‘loser candy’ gained sentience somehow and attacked them.” Ford said.

“...Yeah, I hit him with my car and ate him alive.” Soos said, looking down. “I only ran him down on accident, I swear, dude. I was worried that it might’ve been an actual pedestrian. He tasted pretty good, but I had a tummy ache for days…” Soos wrung his hands, unsure why he was admitting this to Ford.

“Yeah, I’ve done some f-- _messed_ up stuff to defend myself, too.” Ford said, leaning against the wall, absentmindedly reaching into a bowl of cheap loser candy Stan had set on an end table by the door for any early trick or treaters.

“Woah, really? Sometimes I feel kinda bad about it. Does that happen to you?” Soos asked.

“At first…” Ford said, quietly. “After a while, my self-preservation won out, and I stopped caring about what I did to whatever was trying to kill me.”

“Wow, I guess that’s a good way to look at it.” Soos said. “The kids probably wouldn’t be here if that thing was still alive… Maybe I did the right thing after all.”

“...Just don’t stop caring altogether.” Ford said, quietly. “Trust me, that’s worse. Because eventually you’ll run into something that _matters_ again, and you’ll be scared to death of hurting them.” Ford looked away, swallowing a bite of a Mr. Adequate-Bar, afraid he’d only upset Soos more by bringing that up.

“Thanks for the advice, Dude. Sweet costume by the way, you're a spooky scientist?” Soos said, perking up a bit.

“Yeah. Dr. Frankenstein.” Ford said, smiling that Soos didn’t seem too off put. “Fiddleford’s Igor, and Stanley’s going to be the monster.”

“That. Is. Awesome. I'm gonna let the kids know I'm here.” Soos got a final fist bump from Ford before climbing up to the attic. He slowly opened the door to the kids’ room, knocking as he entered. “Who’s ready for an amazing Halloween, dudes?” He said, his smile wide, holding up some glow sticks to give to the kids.

Dipper and Mabel sat on the floor, not yet dressed in their costumes, Mabel's Halloween scrapbook open on the floor. Dipper held his knees to his chest as Mabel leaned against him, both of their faces stained with tears. Neither twin acknowledged Soos as he stood in the doorway, his arms fallen to his sides, heartbroken. Soos knew how much Halloween meant to the kids, he remembered how _excited_ they’d been about Summerween, seeing them so upset on their favorite day of the year was almost too much to bear.

Soos slowly knelt down next to Dipper and Mabel, wrapping them both in a warm hug, not caring that his costume would crinkle. “It’s gonna be okay, dudes… Trust me, you’ll feel better one day.” He said, quietly, remembering his Abuelita’s kind words.

“This was Mom and Dad's favorite day.” Dipper squeaked, fresh tears streaming down his face. “They made our costumes and took us out trick or treating. I-I don’t want all our work to b-be for nothing, but...”

“...Do you want me to go tell your uncle you’re not coming?” Soos said, his voice solemn. “I’ll understand if you want to stay here tonight.”

“No!” Mabel sniffled and pulled away. “Mom and Dad would want us to go. We have to pick out all the candies they like and leave them aside like we always do!” She said, her shoulders trembling, wiping tears from her eyes.

“I know you miss them, I understand that you want to get them their candy.” Soos said. “You kids sure you’re going to be alright?”

“Yeah… Yeah, we’ve gotta do this. So they won’t feel bad about missing Halloween when Great Uncle Ford brings them back.” Dipper said, wiping his eyes.

“He can do that?” Soos asked.

“We’re not sure right now, but if anyone can find a way, it’s him.” Mabel said.

“Well, I guess you’re right. From what I know about him he’s basically some sort of science wizard?” Soos said, pulling out some glow sticks. “Now who’s ready to get dressed and hit the road?”

 Dipper slowly stood back up and grabbed the costume laid out on his bed. “I am!” He said as he ran with the costume off to the bathroom to get changed.

Mabel stood behind, wringing her hands. “Thank you, Soos.”

“No problem dude.” Soos stood there with a smile for a moment before realizing Mabel needed to get dressed. “Oh! Sorry, ham-bone. I'll be downstairs.” He said, rushing downstairs, leaving behind two glow sticks for Dipper and Mabel.

Downstairs, Ford stood near the doorway, one arm wrapped protectively around Fiddleford, who happily leaned into Ford's embrace. Stan was just outside the Shack, scaring pants off of some early trick or treaters.

“...You’re sure you and Stanley will be alright by yourselves?” Ford asked. “I can’t _not_ go and protect the kids, but…” Ford faltered. He had to protect the kids, Stanley and Fiddleford, and the rift, and protecting all of them was looking more and more difficult by the minute. He pulled Fiddleford closer to him, his muscles tensing, ready to attack anything that might come near them.

Fiddleford gently placed a hand on Ford's cheek and leaned in slowly for a smooch. He made sure the kiss was quick, long enough to reassure Ford, but short enough to be over before it made him uneasy. “Don't you worry. With Stanley an’ me here, nothin’s going to happen. We ain’t goin’ nowhere.” He said. Ford wrapped Fiddleford in a hug, resting his chin on Fiddleford’s balding head, his arms just underneath the throw pillow Fiddleford was using as a hunch.

“I’ll take Stan’s phone with me. Call me if _anything_ happens.” He said, softly. He perked up when he heard Stan walking through the door, cackling as he wiped fake blood and ground beef from his face, putting it in a cooler he’d stashed behind the doorway.

“Hey, you two lovebirds save that sappy stuff for Valentine’s Day. This holiday’s about _pure evil_ , no more no less.” He said, smiling wide. Stan looked positively gruesome in makeup that he and Mabel had done up to look like a real corpse, and Ford had provided some fake stitches on Stan’s skin. Stan was probably the happiest he'd been this autumn, all done up to look disgusting and horrid, and more than capable of scaring people without going the extra mile and acting like his brains were spilling out of his head.

Fiddleford loosened his grip on Ford and chuckled. “Sorry, we were just sayin’ goodbye.” He said, adjusting the goggles on his costume. “He worries too much.”

Ford opened his mouth to retort, but stopped short when he heard Soos coming down the stairs, without the twins.

“The kids’ll be ready in a few more minutes, Dr. Pines.” Soos said, smiling a bit. “Looks like things worked out with you and your scrawny hillbilly boyfriend.” He added, seeing Ford’s arm still wrapped around Fiddleford’s shoulder.

“Hey, now! I got a little meat on my bones!” Fiddleford responded, patting his soft belly. 

Soos chuckled and gave Fiddleford an affectionate arm punch. “Yeah, I see what you mean. Lookin’ good.” He smiled, and addressed the two of them. “So do you two dudes still want me to keep things on the down low?”

“That might be better for everyone.” Fiddleford said as he pulled away. Stanford had always been shy about his romantic affairs, and having the whole population of Gravity Falls know that the town kook was his boyfriend would surely embarrass him. “I wouldn’t wanna damage Stanford’s standin’ in the town by bein’ seen with the likes a’me.” He said, quietly.

A tiny piece of Stanford's already fractured heart broke when he heard his lover's faint voice. “Fidds… You wouldn’t be…” He faltered, unsure of what to say. “I _do_ think we should be subtle about this for our own safety, just in case… But I'm not ashamed of you, not in the slightest.”

Fiddleford looked up at Stanford, shock and confusion evident on his face. “...Really?”

Ford took a deep breath, reached down, and placed a gentle kiss on Fiddleford’s forehead. “Yes, really.” He said with a soft smile.

Fiddleford melted in Ford's arms and sighed when Ford pulled away. “I'll take your word for it then. Er-- thanks for yer discretion, Soos.”

“Sure, as long as you uh… Don't try to eat me again.” Soos chuckled awkwardly.

“Oh! Of course not. I-I would never...” Fiddleford fought to hide the wave of embarrassment that flooded through him. He thought back to chasing Soos in a pig's body around town with a fork and knife, how hungry he really was then. “I really did think you was a normal pig.”

“Let me guess, you found the body swap carpet and switched places with Waddles?” Ford said, grinning a bit. “The first time I tested it out, I actually used a pig I’d bought from the farm downtown. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of not telling Fiddleford what I was doing. He, uh, he thought he’d surprise me with a romantic ham dinner. He didn’t exactly believe me when I told him _I_ was the ham. He didn't stop chasing me until I led him to where my body had wandered off to.” He said, scratching the back of his head. Fiddleford’s face was still as red as a tomato, and he wrung his hands, tugging at bandages that were no longer there, slowly inching away from Stanford. Ford frowned, slowly reaching out and wrapping an arm around Fiddleford's shoulders, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “All’s well that ends well, though… Right?”

Stanley laughed and slapped his knee. “That's classic, Fiddlenerd. The first time the kids found that damn carpet, I was in a mood cause they both wanted Ford’s old room. So when they switched bodies, I made them fight for the room and I told Mabel about the pituitary gland!” He paused. “...That kinda came back to bite me in the butt later, though.”

Mabel and Dipper rushed down the stairs, arguing over how much fake blood was enough.

“I’m telling you, Dipper, this isn’t scary enough!” Mabel said, holding out the hem of her dress, pointing at the blood stains on it.

“Mabel, if I put any more blood on it it’ll just be a red dress.” Dipper said, huffing as he walked down the stairs. “Besides, it’s unrealistic to put more blood on it because people can only lose so much before they die.”

“Dipper, they’re ghosts, they’re already dead!” Mabel pouted. ”It's theatrical, we don't have to be _exact!_ ”

“Mabel, save some of the fake blood for tomorrow, there's going to be little kids out tonight, we don't wanna scare them too bad!” Dipper huffed.

“Sure we do, kiddo!” Stan said, clapping Dipper on the back. “But yeah, save some blood for tomorrow. I’m not buying another leaky overpriced vat of that store bought _fake_ fake blood just cause you two used up all the stuff you made today.”

Mabel adjusted her hair bow and handed her camera over to Ford. “Will you get a picture of us? For my scrapbook?” She said, quietly.

Ford gently grabbed the camera from Mabel and gave her a soft nod. “Of course, Mabel.” Mabel’s camera was an old Polaroid, much closer to what Ford was used to. “Okay, Dipper, Mabel, huddle in next to the staircase.” He said, smiling wide.

“Yeah, and do the spooky hand holding thing!” Stan added.

Dipper and Mabel stood in front of the crooked staircase and held hands, lowering their heads to glare into the camera like the creepy twins in the movie. “ _Come play with us, Grunkle Ford._ ” They said in unison as Ford snapped a picture. When the camera spit out the photograph, Ford delicately shook it until it developed, then handed it to Mabel.

Mabel took the picture gladly and grinned, “It's perfect, look how scary we are, Dipper!”

“Yeah…” Dipper said, leaning over Mabel’s shoulder, smiling a little bit.

“You two dudes look awesome!” Soos said, giving the kids a thumbs up.

“...Hey, Mabel?” Ford asked, gently tapping her shoulder. “Do you think you could get a picture of Stanley, Fidds, and I?”

Mabel grabbed the camera and giggled “Of _course_ I can! Get by the staircase, look creepy!”

Stan looked genuinely surprised as Ford grabbed his arm, leading him and Fiddleford over to the staircase. Ford placed Stan in the middle, with himself and Fiddleford on either side, laughing maniacally while Stanley did his best to look threatening.

“It’s… _alive_!” Ford said in a spooky voice, waving his fingers and grinning like a madman. Mabel snapped a few pictures and handed them to Ford.

“Are these alright?” She asked, smoothing out a wrinkle in her dress.

“Mabel, these are perfect.” Ford said, stashing one of the photos in his pocket and handing the rest to Stan and Fiddleford.

“We look downright silly.” Fiddleford chortled as he looked at the picture. “Thank you, Mabel.”

Stan held the photo in his hands, running his thumb over it and smiling gently. Finally, after all these years, after _decades_ of toil and heartbreak, he finally got Stanford back. He put the photo in his pocket, before anyone could take notice of the tears welling up in his eyes. “...You guys oughta hit the road soon. There’s people to scare and candy to be had.”

There was a knock at the door, and a familiar deep voice. “TRICK OR TREAT!” called Grenda from the other side of the door. Stan opened the door, not bothering to scare Candy and Grenda. Candy had dressed herself up as Medusa, using papier mache and chicken wire to make her snake heads, and green face paint to add scales to her skin. Grenda was dressed as Aphrodite, and had a long white toga draped around her and a curly blonde wig.

“Candy! Grenda! You two look amazing!” Mabel said, pushing past Stan to see her friend’s costumes.

“Oh, it’s nothing special.” Candy said, giggling a bit. “It only took about fifteen hours to make.”

“Mabel, your costume looks so scary!” Grenda said, giving Mabel a hug. “Are you guys those twins from The Shining?” Mabel nodded.

“My mom doesn’t let me watch that movie, you are so mature.” Candy said.

Soos handed Dipper, Mabel, Candy and Grenda some glow sticks and flashlights. “Alright, dudes. Let’s go trick or treating!” He said, pumping his fists in the air as he led the kids out the door.

Ford lingered behind, grabbing Fiddleford’s hand and turning to face him. “You’re _sure_ you’ll be alright?” He asked.

“I’ll be _fine_ , we’ll call if anythin’ happens.” Fiddleford said, grabbing Stan’s phone from the end table by the door and slipping it into Ford’s coat pocket. He kissed Ford on the cheek, light and quick, before pulling away.

“...Be safe.” Ford said, sharing a knowing look with Stan, before he walked out the door to join the others.

Soos helped each kid into the bed of his truck, where he'd placed bales of hay to sit on, and makeshift safety belts with bungee cord. “Sorry, the ride's gonna be a little itchy, dudes.”

“It’s quite alright, Soos.” Ford said, hopping up into the bed of the truck. “We’re not having to hide _in_ the hay, and the hay isn’t poisonous to humans, and we’re not trying to outrun the Vordan secret police, so I think we’ll be fine.”

“It makes my butt itchy.” Candy commented, not exactly disappointed.

“It matches my hair!” Grenda said, grabbing fistfuls of hay and holding it up to her wig for everyone else to see.

“It’ll be easier than walking everywhere in this weather. I can’t believe it gets this cold this early up here.” Dipper said, shivering against the autumn chill.

“Oh, it’ll get a lot colder.” Ford said, putting an arm around Dipper and Mabel to keep them warm. “But I think you’ll like it when it starts snowing.” He said, a smile on his face. “...Kids still like snow these days, right?”

“Grenda and I build snow people in my front yard every Christmas.” Candy mused, adjusting her glasses. “I like to add a few extra eyes, to give them something special.”

Ford gave Candy a wide smile, memories of building snowmen out in the streets with Stanley, rushing to get them done before the snow plows came and destroyed them, dancing through his mind. He remembered when they’d tie sticks together for the arms, Stanley always made sure to give his snowmen six fingers. Ford let out a soft chuckle. “Glad to know that that hasn’t changed much.” He said.

“Yeah. And my family throws a big Christmas party every year, you guys can come!” Grenda gave Dipper an excited punch on the arm.

“Sure,” Dipper said, rubbing his arm. “I mean, we don't really celebrate Christmas, but it can't hurt.”

“I think Christmas is fun! A fat man breaking into your house every year and giving you presents? _WHAT IF SANTA VISITS US IN GRAVITY FALLS?_ ”Mabel said, shaking Dipper’s shoulders.

 _“Mabel,_ I doubt Santa Claus is real.” Dipper said. “Mom and Dad just told us that he was so we wouldn’t spoil every other kid’s fun.” He leaned in closer to Ford at the mention of their parents, and Ford gave Dipper a reassuring squeeze.

“Wait, is the Hanukkah goblin fake too?” Mabel exclaimed. The equivalent to Santa Claus that Sherman Pines had invented from an old storybook was Mabel's favorite part of the holiday season, it made her feel a little more included with the other children her age.

Ford chimed in, clearing his throat, “I can’t really speak on the existence of Santa Claus, but as for the goblin… How about we find out when Hanukkah rolls around?” Ford adjusted his glasses. “I’m an expert in finding and discovering supernatural creatures, if the Hanukkah goblin is real, we’ll find him.” He said, smiling at the kids. This was supposed to be a good night for them, and he wasn't about to let it get spoiled.

Soos drove slowly, so that he wouldn't jostle the kids as he pulled into the first neighborhood on their route. Candy, Grenda, Dipper and Mabel all piled out of the truck, and Ford nearly followed them to the door before he was stopped by Soos.

“No one's gonna hurt those kids while we're around. Just let them have fun on their own, ya know, dude?” He said, patting Ford's shoulder and positioning themselves on the other side of the truck, facing the door of the house the kids were headed towards. It was a small cookie cutter neighborhood, nothing too fancy, but every house was decorated with jack-o-lanterns and spooky ghosts and scarecrows. The kids ran up to the first house on the street, and Ford tensed when a woman dressed as a witch answered the door, one hand wrapped around the reinforced knitting needles in his pocket, praying that they’d be enough in an emergency.

The kids all gave an enthusiastic, “Trick or Treat!” in unison as the lady fawned over their creative costumes, and gave them a liberal amount of candy, enough that each of their bags was at least a quarter of the way full already.

“Hehe, good thing I brought extra bags and a wheelbarrow, huh, Dr. Pines?” Soos said, smiling fondly and nudging Ford.

“Yes, I suppose it is.” Ford said, his eyes trained on the kids. “People still love twins in costumes, huh?”

“Dude, those kids got five hundred pieces of candy in one night over the summer, the people love ‘em.” Soos said, laughing a bit. Ford relaxed, seeing Soos so calm about things and the kids waving goodbye to the woman at the door, safe and sound.

“Thank you!” the kids cheered as they returned to the truck to show off their new stash of candy.

“Hm… Three butterscotch candies and two Snickers… Oooh, a Reese’s Cup!” Candy said, rummaging through her bag.

“Dipper, will you trade me something for this Payday bar?” Mabel asked.

“Sure, you want a… what is this, a Sugar Daddy?” Dipper said, holding up a caramel lollipop with one hand and digging through his bag with another. “Oh, here’s some Jolly Ranchers. I’ve got blue raspberry if you wanna trade.”

“They still make Sugar Daddies?” Ford asked, raising an eyebrow. “I haven’t seen one of those in _years_.”

Dipper looked at the caramel in his hand. “Yeah, I guess so? I’ve never really heard of them. I think they’re just caramel on a stick. You… you want mine? I’m probably not going to eat it.” Dipper held out the candy to Ford. The Sugar Daddy reminded Dipper too much of all the loser candy from Summerween for his liking, and he wasn’t exactly sad to see it go.

Ford hesitated, checking the wrapping closely for any sign of tampering, before taking a bite of the caramel. It stretched and dissolved in his mouth, and Ford searched for a tiny flicker of familiarity in the taste, but something wasn’t quite right. His heart sank a little as he realized that they must have modified the recipe over the years, if for no other reason than to keep up with production costs.

“Do you like it, Grunkle Ford?” Mabel asked in her sweet voice, hoping to see her uncle have a happy memory for once.

Ford finished chewing before he gave Mabel a soft smile, kneeling down to her and Dipper’s level. “It’s delicious, kids. Thank you.” Ford said, pushing down the feeling that he was an outsider in his own dimension. Reminding himself that caramel was caramel, even if it didn’t hold the exactly same taste as it had thirty years prior. That he was making _new_ memories, had new things to look back on here, with the kids, with Stan, with Fiddleford. His smile grew wider at the thought that it wasn’t _over_ , that this world was starting to feel like home again, and damn it all if he was going to let a candy bar get in the way of that.

“If I get any more of those, I'll save them for you!” Mabel smiled and fished around to see if she had any more, before grabbing Dipper’s hand. “Now, come on, we’ve got the whole rest of the neighborhood to get through!”  She said, running down the street to the next house.

Ford smiled as he watched them go.

Back at the Shack, Fiddleford sat in the living room, waiting for Stan to finish scaring the latest round of trick or treaters. They’d taken to playing poker between knocks at the door, betting everything from money to chores around the house to ridiculous dares for the loser of a hand, and so far, Stan was trouncing him.

“Are you sure you wanna keep playing, Fiddlenerd? I’m kicking your ass, and there’s not a lot left you can bet.” Stan said as he plopped back down in his chair, faking his mean tone and dealing out a new hand of cards. “M’surprised you haven’t taken advantage of me gettin’ up every five minutes.” He said, looking at his hand.

“Unlike my present company, I play _fair_.” Fiddleford chided. “...I’m thinking loser has to wear Stanford’s heels all night at the party tomorrow. Can’t take ‘em off no matter what.” He said, discarding two of his cards and drawing new ones from the deck.

“I’ll take that bet.” Stan said. “And trust me, _everybody_ cheats at poker!” Stan said, laughing. “Seriously, just try playing dirty for once. This is hardly any fun knowing I’m just gonna win every time.” Stan said, revealing his hand, a pair of kings and a pair of jacks, with a single queen to round it out.

“Well, would you lookie there,” Fiddleford said, revealing his own hand. “Guess cheaters never prosper, after all, huh?” He said, his grin wide as Stan balked at the four aces in Fiddleford’s hand.

“...I guess Frankenstein’s wearing heels tomorrow.” Stan said. “My feet are gonna hurt like a motherfucker after about two hours.” He groaned.

Fiddleford cackled and set his hand down when he heard another knock at the door. “Do you want me to get ‘em?”

“Eh, that’s probably a good idea. If that ground beef stays out any longer it’ll turn, I should go put it in the freezer.” Stan said, standing up and walking with Fiddleford towards the front door, reaching into the cooler he had stashed there and grabbing what was left of the beef.

Fiddleford grabbed the candy dish, adjusted the goggles on his costume, and answered the door with a genuine grin on his face. “Let’s see what spooky costumes we have here!” He said to the small group of children on the porch.

“Who are you?” One girl, who was dressed as a fairy, said.

“I think that’s the old crazy guy who lives in the dump.” A chubby boy dressed as a pirate, shorter than most of the other kids, said.

“This is lame, he’s not even in costume!” A second girl, this one dressed as a zombie, said, stamping her foot.

Fiddleford’s heart sank as he lowered the bowl of candy for the kids to choose from, without a word, not even to tell the kids that he _was_ in costume, that he wasn’t just wearing rags.

“Hey, mister old man, why aren’t you at the dump? Did Mr. Mystery buy you as a new attraction?” The zombie girl snickered.

“No, but if you don’t scram, I’ll put you snot nosed brats up on display instead.” Stan’s voice boomed from behind Fiddleford. He had to duck as Stan reached over him and slammed the door as hard as he could, leaving behind flecks of green body paint on the hardwood and making the house shake a little.

Fiddleford jumped at the loud noise and almost dropped the candy dish as he tried to set it down. “S-Stanley, those kids were only jokin’, I’m sure.”

“So? Kids can be assholes.” Stan said, leaning against the wall. “They run around breaking merchandise, harassing other kids, and in general just being pieces of shit. Hell, Gideon tried to destroy the whole town, spied on everyone, nearly _killed_ Dipper and Mabel, and stole my damn house.” Stan paused. “That piece of shit ten year old had the second journal, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was trying to get at the damn portal. Even if he wasn’t, I almost lost Ford _forever_ cause of that one kid. So no, I’m not gonna let a whole group of ‘em mess with you or anyone else in this family.”

Fiddleford leaned against the doorframe, trembling, still worked up over the kids. _Is this really what people have been thinkin’ of me? It’s no wonder my son doesn’t want me around, it’s only a matter’a time before the Pines are gonna get sick’a me too. It’s only a matter of time before **Stanford** gets sick’a me.... _

Stan looked over at Fiddleford, easily recognizing the symptoms of panic, and moved closer to him. “Fiddlenerd? Fidds? Listen, don’t let those brats get to you. People are jerks, and they might think some awful things, but that doesn’t mean they’re right about you or about anyone else.” He said, a pang of familiarity in his chest. He’d comforted Stanford in the same manner thousands of times in their youth.

Fiddleford shrunk back when he saw Stan approaching, trying to convince himself that everything was going to be alright and that no one was going to get tired of his company. “I’m fine, Stanley… Honest.” He said, meekly. “Why don’t we get back to our game?”

“Fidds, you’re a terrible liar.” Stan huffed. “But sure, we’ll get back to the game.” He said, walking back towards the living room and motioning for Fiddleford to follow.

Fiddleford tugged at the sleeves of his lab coat and sat back down at their card table, hunching over in his seat. Stan sat down and dealt a new hand.

“So, for this one, I’m thinking… loser has to shove their face in a pie.” Stan said, looking at his junk hand and resisting the urge to switch a few of the cards with the aces and kings he’d stashed up his shirt sleeve.

“You’re on!” Fiddleford chuckled a little and looked at his hand. He was sure he was going to lose this one, he only had a pair of tens, but the consequences for losing the hand were at least mild compared to the others they’d come up with over the course of the night. He set three of his cards aside and drew more from the deck, and didn’t wind up with a much better hand than he’d started out with.

“Feh.” Stan huffed as he revealed his junk hand, crossing his arms and looking away.

“...Looks like I win again.” Fiddleford said quietly, revealing his hand with a measly pair of tens.

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.” Stan said, dealing a new hand, this time slipping a king into Fiddleford's hand when he wasn't looking.

“Loser has to tell Stanford about 3D printers.” Stan said. “Just be sure to let ‘im know that they can’t _actually_ alter reality, they just make shit from other shit.” He winked.

Fiddleford chuckled and took a peek at his hand, trying not to let the pleasant surprise show on his face. “I think I’ll take that bet.” He said, tossing only one card to exchange. Stan exchanged his own cards and revealed his hand. A pair of jacks and little else. Fiddleford looked at the card he’d drawn from the deck, and smiled wide when he revealed the pair of kings in his hand. “Looks like playin’ fair is startin’ to pay off!”

“Just don’t head off to Vegas anytime soon. We’d miss ‘ya too much.” Stan said, giving out a hearty chuckle. Losing their bets was more than worth it to him if it meant that his friend would feel a little better.

Fiddleford sunk lower in his seat, fidgeting with one of the playing cards in his hand. “...Really?”

“Yeah, of course.” Stan said, giving Fiddleford a gentle smile. “The kids love you, and _Stanford_ loves you, and I… really ought to be thanking you for that.” He sighed. “You’re really good for him, you know that? He knows you won’t hurt him, he _trusts you_ , which believe me, is _huge_ , and your, er, romantic history together is a big help, too… He acts like it doesn’t matter to him, but he gets homesick and nostalgic. A lot. It’s been thirty years, a lot has changed… But _you_ haven’t, not really. It makes him feel better about the whole thing, and I _can’t_ do that, not like you can. Cause thirty years back we were still fighting, and before that we were pretty much all the other had, which I guess ain’t too healthy in the long run. _You’re_ what’s left of his good memories.” Stan said, shifting in his seat. “So… thanks.”

Fiddleford set his cards down, looking at the table with a bit of a blush, “Yer welcome, I suppose… But I should be thankin’ you. You and Stanford have been helpin’ me get back to my old self, and I can’t thank you two enough for that.”

“...You only got that bad ‘cause of us, anyways.” Stan said. “...You ever remember what you did for me after I got to Gravity Falls?” Stan’s voice was quiet, prodding for Fiddleford to remember, so he could maybe wrap his head around what exactly had happened. “You came into the Shack when it was still the Murder Hut, saying I was selling…”

“...The devil’s wares.” Fiddleford finished, his eyes wide, the memory flashing through his head.

It was spring, 1982, the Murder Hut had been in business for a few months, but Fiddleford hadn’t given much thought to its proprietor until one Bud Gleeful, a new member to a recently established Society of the Blind Eye, had mentioned that a visiting researcher now ran a gift shop that was promoting the evils that the Society was designed to erase. Livid, with broken memories of Stanford Pines bubbling to the surface, Fiddleford stormed over to the ‘Murder Hut,’ more than ready to put a stop to Stanford Pines’ wicked ways. He was still in his robe, despite the daylight, the anger in his heart affecting his judgement, and his fingers twitched against the memory gun in his hand, ignoring the voices in his head telling him that the gun wouldn’t work on Stanford Pines.

Business at the Murder Hut was slow that day, thankfully. Fiddleford had begun to suspect that his invention was taking more memories than intended with each use, but if it was for the good of the world, he was going to put his misgivings aside, and take aim at anyone who dared harm this town. Fiddleford kicked the door open, nearly knocking it off its hinges.

“Stanford Filbrick Pines!” He screamed at the man behind the counter. He was wearing an old, beat down red jacket, slacks, and a fez which did little to hide the mullet that fell down around his broad shoulders. Something wasn’t quite right. _Did Stanford always used to be so… big?_ Fiddleford shook his head, chalking up the discrepancy to the memory gun, and continued. “How dare you sell… Sell the _devil’s wares_ to these poor townsfolk!” He yelled, his face contorting in anger. “I’ve known you for _years_ but I never thought you’d stoop this _low_!”

“Wait… _years_?” The man asked. His face was still, but a tiny glimmer of hope shone in his eyes. “...I’m sorry, remind me what your name is?” He said, quietly.

“ _Fiddleford Hadron McGucket._ ” He said, moving closer to the man. “You’re puttin’ the townsfolk at risk by sellin these horrid thingamajigs, and I won’t let you hurt them anymore!”

“Now, wait a second, hang on,” The man who claimed to be Stanford Pines slowly inched forwards, reaching out to Fiddleford with a five fingered hand.

“Holy _shit_ \--” Fiddleford yelled, jumping back and aiming at the man who was most definitely _not_ Stanford Pines. The one memory Fiddleford had left of his ex clearly told him that much. “Get back! I’ll shoot!”

The man stared at the memory gun, taking note of the light bulb on the front end, and laughed. “What the hell, man?”

“I don’t know who or _what_ you are, but you sure as hell ain’t the Stanford I worked with fer th’ past _year_!” Fiddleford said, his hands trembling. The man stopped, and everything in the shack went still.

“...You… You worked with Stanford?” He said, his voice quiet. Fiddleford nodded. “On the portal, right?”

“How do you know about that? No one should know about that!” Fiddleford hastily input _portal_ into the memory gun, hoping it would be enough.

“Please, you have to listen to me.” The man said, tears brimming in his eyes. “I-I’m _not_ Stanford, I’m his twin brother, Stanley. He… Oh god, he... Stanford…” Stanley’s breath hitched as tears fell down his face. “He fell through the p-portal, I’ve been going _crazy_ trying to get him back. B-but you can help me! You probably know how to work it, right?” Stanley’s hands were on Fiddleford’s shoulders now, and the memory gun clattered to the floor. “Please, i-it was all my fault, I-I didn’t mean… I have to get him _back_.”

“No.” Fiddleford said, quietly.

“Wh… what?” Stanley’s face fell, it looked like the world could end right then and there and it wouldn’t matter to him either way.

“If you were smart, you would tear that infernal machine apart and leave this town. Stanford Pines cannot be saved.” Fiddleford took a shaky breath. “Somethin’ went wrong when we was buildin’ it. That infernal machine would bring about the end of the world for certain. I can’t quite recall what happened, but for weeks I was haunted by it, until I erased my mind of the memory. We go around helpin’ other folks, too, by erasin’ their bad memories. I-I might be able to do the same for you...”

“I-I _can’t_.” Stan said. “He’s in trouble, I have to save him, I have to do whatever it takes! I don’t care if it’s dangerous, I don’t care how long it takes! I _have_ to do this!”

Fiddleford was still for a moment, and the only sound in the shack came from Stanley’s choked sobs. _Oh lord, he really does care about his brother. And… and lord only knows the state I’d be in if Tate ever fell through the portal… Stanford mentioned missing his brother a few times, maybe he called Stanley up here to reconcile after I left, and..._ Fiddleford sighed, slowly reaching down to grab the memory gun in his hand, still charged and waiting for someone to pull the trigger. “I… I can’t live with myself knowing that portal will be reopened one day.” He said quietly, so quietly Stanley barely caught it. Fiddleford put his hands on Stanley’s shoulders. “Stanley, listen to me. No matter what happens, no matter what anyone says or does, no matter how bad it gets, if you want your brother back, _don’t tell a single soul_ about the paranormal. Just act like it’s all a front to your little shop here.” Fiddleford sighed. “And… And don’t go around acting like you know me, okay?” He said, slowly turning to leave.

“W-w-wait, where are you going, _wait_!” Stanley called out behind him, but it was too late. Fiddleford had fled the scene, heading back into town. He ran, ignoring the stares of the passerby, and he didn’t stop running until he reached the Gravity Falls Museum of Natural History. He filed in through the crowds of people, until he came to the room that hid a secret chamber where the Society of the Blind Eye held their meetings.

The chamber was empty. Fiddleford supposed that was a good thing. He took out a piece of paper and wrote down some instructions for the other members of the Society, namely to forget Fiddleford had ever been a part of this and to transfer leadership roles to Ivan for the time being, and placed the note on top of his carefully folded robe.

Fiddleford looked down at his clothes. He was wearing an old, torn up grey t-shirt, and some brown overalls he’d found lying in the bottom of his trunk, and honestly, Fiddleford couldn’t believe that he’d fallen so far. _Well, nothing for it now, I suppose._ He thought as he typed a single phrase into the memory gun. _I can’t have a hand in causing the apocalypse, but I can’t leave Stanford to die either, and I can’t let his brother go on like that thinking everything’s hopeless. At least this way, whatever happens is finally out of my hands._ He thought as he pulled the trigger, aiming for his own head.

Everything he’d experienced before 1982 disappeared into a hazy blur.

“Fidds? Fiddleford? You alright there?” Stan’s voice snapped Fiddleford back to the present, on the verge of tears.

“...I still don’t recall exactly what happened between me an’ Stanford… but I _do_ remember meetin’ you, Stanley.” Fiddleford wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “And I remember… I-I remember takin the last of my…” Fiddleford faltered, unable to process the information.

“...The way I see it, you stopped me from getting my memories erased by taking out the only other person who knew about the portal… _You_.” Stan said, tears forming in his own eyes now. “I don’t know what I’d do if they’d caught up to me, made me forget the portal, or worse, _Stanford_. Thanks to you, Ford is back home.” Stan said, trying to push down the thought of himself living out the rest of his days running the Mystery Shack, unaware of what lied beneath, never quite shaking the feeling that a part of himself was _missing_.

Fiddleford rose from his seat to lean over and wrap his arms around Stanley in a tight hug. Stan froze, unsure of what to do, before awkwardly returning the gesture. Fiddleford squeezed Stan before pulling away to give Stan a smile. “I guess it was a group effort. Cause he wouldn't be here without _you,_ first an foremost.”

Stan pulled away, shaking his head. “Let’s stop talking about all this sad shit. It’s Halloween, we should be having fun.” He said, quietly. “...Glad you’re feeling better.” He added. There was a knock at the door, signaling the next round of trick or treaters. “I’ll get ‘em this time.”

Ford leaned back against the haystacks in Soos’ truck, keeping his eyes trained on his surroundings as they drove by. The kids were huddled in the bed of the truck, sorting through what was by now their second bagful of candy. Soos drove into Gravity Fall’s gated community, having a little pull with the security guard, who frequented the Mystery Shack.

“Yes! The rich people have the best candy!” Grenda cheered as they drove alongside the freshly manicured lawns.

“I hear they have full sized Hershey’s bars and candies only found in foreign countries!” Candy said, peering out over the side of the truck.

A few children were seen strolling the sidewalks in their expensive costumes, but one stuck out, a girl dressed all in black with a hood and sunglasses to hide her face, with a familiar purple scarf over her head.

Mabel gasped as she spotted none other than Pacifica Northwest and tapped Soos’ shoulder from the truck rear window. “Soos, that’s Pacifica, pull over!” She said, a wide smile on her face.

Ford stared at the girl in question, noting that she seemed to be alone, without her parents or any other adult for that matter.  Soos pulled into an empty driveway, close to where Pacifica was walking, and everyone hopped out of the truck bed.

“HEY PACI--” Mabel began to shout, before Pacifica ran over to shoosh her, in a bit of a panic.

“How could you tell it was me? Keep your voice down!” She whispered. Mabel licked her hand, and she pulled away.

“You’re wearing that purple scarf! So what are you supposed to be, anyways?” Mabel asked.

“I’m _supposed_ to be back at my house… in my room. But I wanted to go out and get candy like everyone else.” Pacifica said.

“Well you’re not staying out here at night _alone_ , Pacifica.” Ford said. “I’m sure your parents are worried sick, I’ll call them and get this sorted out. In the meantime, you can stay with us.” Ford said, pulling out Stan’s Nokia.

“Please don’t call them! They’ll be busy with their stupid party all night, they won’t even know I’m gone! I don’t want to get in trouble.” Pacifica said, grabbing the phone from Ford’s hand.

“Yeah, Grunkle Ford. Let Pacifica stay, she’s probably bored out of her brains cause of all the boring old rich people!” Mabel said, wrapping an arm around Pacifica, who pulled her sunglasses off to help Mabel give Ford puppy dog eyes

Ford thought about it for a moment, remembering how he and Stan had often snuck away from boring family gatherings, before sighing. “Alright, I suppose _just this once_ I won’t call your parents. But we’re not taking you outside of the neighborhood, and we’ll drop you off back at your house. Please, don’t make a habit of this. I know _I’d_ be worried if Dipper and Mabel suddenly snuck out of the house on a night like tonight, and I’m sure your parents would be too.” He said.

Pacifica frowned and looked at her feet. “Yeah… right…” She gave a tiny sigh. “Um, thanks for letting me come with you guys.” She said, handing Ford the phone back.

Mabel gave Pacifica a squeeze before pulling her arm away. “No probs! Next time, call one of us. We’ll come pick you up! I-- We love hanging out with you!” She said. “Now, about your _costume_ … We could try to say you’re a secret agent? _How about a fashion ninja_?!”

Grenda and Candy both nodded in approval of Mabel’s ideas, and Dipper rummaged through the bed of a trunk for a spare candy bag for her. “Here you go, Pacifica. Trust me, you’ll need it.” He said.

“Yeah! You might have everything you’ve ever wanted, but you’ve never experienced the _magic_ that twins in costumes has on people giving out candy!” Mabel winked and elbowed Pacifica while giving her a peek into her almost full bag of candy. “This is our _second_ bag, and we’ve only been out for an hour!” She said, noting the impressed look on Pacifica’s face. “And we’ll share with you, if you don’t get as much before you have to go home!”

“Thanks, guys. I’ve… I’ve never been trick or treating before.” Pacifica admitted as she tied her purple scarf around her waist.

“What?!” Dipper, Mabel, Candy, Grenda, and Ford said in unison.

“I thought trick or treating was still a staple in this universe?” Ford asked.

“Pacifica.” Mabel looked heartbroken that her friend had never fully experienced her favorite holiday. “We are going to make sure you have the _best. Halloween. Ever_. We’ll go trick or treating until _midnight_ , and you can come over to Grunkle Stan’s Halloween party tomorrow night, and we can have a spooky story sleepover! It’ll be great!”

Soos called from the truck, “Let’s get going, little dudes, I don’t want you to miss out on the best candy in town!”

“Well, you heard the giant candy corn!” Mabel said, grabbing Pacifica’s hand and pulling her down the street. “Let’s go!” Pacifica held on tightly to Mabel’s hand and laughed as they ran down the sidewalk, the other kids following close behind. Ford stood near the back with Soos, keeping a sharper eye than ever on the kids, now that Pacifica had joined them.

The kids knocked out a whole block of houses fairly quick, being sure to thank the rich people for the generous amounts of candy they gave out, pausing every few houses to dump out their candy in Soos’ car. When Mabel wasn’t doing her twins routine with Dipper, she stuck close to Pacifica’s side, showing her which candies were the best to trade for, helping her adjust her makeshift costume.

“So, your parents are having a big dumb fancy party, huh?” Mabel said, walking up to Pacifica.

“Yeah, it's a black tie event with an exclusive guest list.” Pacifica said, shrugging. “At least this one probably doesn't have a curse on it, but after what happened last time, I'm just not up for it. It was a boring adult party anyway, I had to stay locked up in my room.”

“That bites.” Mabel frowned. “You can come to our cool, not boring party tomorrow. And I'll make sure Grunkle Stan doesn't charge you admission. Do you need help coming up with a costume?” Mabel offered, hooking arms with Pacifica.

“Admission fees aren’t a problem for me. And no, I think I’ll be fine.” Pacifica said. “...But I’ll be there.”

“I can't wait to see you there! It's going to be a blast!” Mabel leaned her head against Pacifica's shoulder and smiled. “Any time you wanna get away from your stinky parents, you know, you can always come over to the Shack. I really like hanging out with you.”

Pacifica smiled, gently nudging Mabel off her shoulder. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, hanging out with you guys.” She said, looking away.

“We could play video games, start a braid train, maybe go on a monster hunt...” Mabel said.

“We could… try and find a unicorn? They’re probably real, right?” Pacifica said.

“They’re real jerks is what they are.” Mabel huffed, crossing her arms.

“Wait, really? They're real? What made them act like jerks?” Pacifica gasped.

“They just… They have this whole pure of heart scam going and they make you feel like you’re a terrible person, just ‘cause they don’t want to give up their stupid hair even though it’s magic and we needed it.” Mabel said, clenching her fists.

“Woah, that's really messed up. You're not a terrible person, they must have been super mean to make you believe that.” Pacifica said. “I… I kinda know how you feel…” She added, her voice quiet.

“You do...? You're not terrible either. Whoever makes you feel like that is probably worse than the unicorns.” Mabel grinned and elbowed Pacifica. “You know, I _beat up_ those unicorns for being mean to me and my friends. I'd do the same for whoever is being mean to you.”

“Uh, no, it’s fine. He apologized.” Pacifica said, putting her hands up, not wanting to see Mabel and Dipper get in another fight.

“Good! You're not a bad person, so I’m glad he apologized!” Mabel said, beaming, not taking notice of Dipper eavesdropping on their conversation.

A lightbulb went off over Dipper’s head when he recognized the look in Mabel’s eyes, he’d seen it a thousand times over the summer. Mabel had a crush. But on whom? There wasn’t anyone new around, no one eligible at least. Unless…

Dipper pulled Mabel to the back of the group, a sly grin on his face. “Having fun, Mabel?” He asked, keeping his voice low.

“Dipper I think I like Pacifica.” Mabel said, her voice quiet.

“No way, I knew it!” Dipper whispered. “What are you gonna do? Do you want me to help you write out a plan? I could make you a checklist!”

“No. I think… I think I’m going to wait.” Mabel said, shifting her weight. “Grunkle Ford waited, and he and Grunkle Fidds are happy together now. I don’t want to rush into anything.”

“Mabel, you’ve always been good with relationship stuff, I think this is gonna work, no matter what you decide to do.” Dipper said, giving her a soft smile.

“I know… but I’m… I’m still--” Mabel sighed. “I have to help keep everyone _happy_ , I can’t focus on this stuff right now. We still have to get Mom and Dad back.” She said, smoothing out the wrinkles on her skirt.

Dipper stared at the ground. “I get it.” He said solemnly. “I want them back too.... But you get to be happy too. Even though you’re sad that they’re gone, it's okay to do something that makes you happy.” Dipper said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “I don’t wanna lose you too.”

Mabel wrapped her arms around Dipper for a tight hug, trying not to get upset in front of everyone. “Thanks Dipdop.” She said, before breaking away and catching up with Pacifica.

“Ready to hit the next house?” Mabel asked, throwing an arm around Pacifica's shoulder, careful not to smear fake blood on her nice clothes.

The night continued on like that for some time, but eventually, the jack o lanterns and porch lights went out, and the kids had to go home, bags full of candy on their backs. By the time Soos had driven everybody else home, Ford, Dipper, and Mabel were exhausted.

When Soos pulled up to the Mystery Shack, the lights were out, only a single lamp in the living room window gave any indication that anyone was home. Ford’s heart sank with worry when he didn't see Stanley or Fiddleford’s silhouettes through the window, and he had to remind himself that it was late, that they were likely asleep, that they'd _know_ if the rift had opened.

“...Stanley?” Ford called, his voice low. “Fidds? We're home.”

Fiddleford and Stanley were both asleep in their chairs at the card table, their poker hands on display, half eaten macaroni dinners forgotten. Ford breathed a sigh of relief, and nudged his brother awake. Mabel and Dipper slowly walked upstairs to sort out their candy, and put some aside for their parents.

“Stanley…?” Ford whispered, slowly lifting one of Stan's arms over his shoulder.

“What?” Stan grumbled back, resisting his brother's attempt to make him get up. “What time is it?”

“Late, almost midnight.” Ford whispered. “...The rift, is it…?” Ford trailed off, trying not to wake Fiddleford.

“It's fine, promise.” Stan whispered, still only half coherent.

“Let's get you to bed…” Ford whispered, supporting Stan's weight as he led him down the hall. Stan wobbled down the hallway with Ford, leaning on him and blinking to keep himself half awake. “...He didn't give you any trouble… did he?”

“Hm? No, Fidds was fine.”

“I was talking about Bill.” Ford said.

“What…? Oh, him. Didn't even show up. I told you everything would work out just fine.” Stan grunted as he sat down on his bed, his knees cracking and popping in protest. “How did your night go?”

“It was… It was _fun_.” Ford said, quietly, sitting down next to him. “You were right, nothing bad happened.”

“Woah, say that again? I was _what?_ ” Stan perked up, nudging Ford's arm.

“You were right,” Ford repeated, letting out a small chuckle. “There wasn't anything really to get worked up over.”

“It’s about time you let loose and have a little fun.” Stan said, wrapping an arm around Ford's shoulders. “You're too stressed out, hell, I'm not sure I've ever really seen you relax since you got back. I'm glad you didn't run into any trouble.” He said, pulling Ford closer.

“Wait, don't tell me _you_ were worried about me.” Ford smirked.

“Ford, I worry about you every damn day.”

Ford froze, the weight of Stan's words sinking in. Christ, how long had it been since someone cared enough to worry if he'd make it home from the other side of town after dark, much less from another _dimension_? Cared enough to help make sure he was actually… _happy_? Slowly, Ford reached out, wrapping Stan in a tight hug.

“I think… maybe it's _you_ who worries too much…” Ford said, quietly.

“I worry just enough.” Stan yawned and hugged his brother back. “...Happy Halloween, Poindexter.”

“Happy Halloween, Stanley.” Ford said, giving Stan a final squeeze before releasing him. “You, uh, you get some sleep, Stan.” He said, before standing up and walking down the hallway, back towards the living room to retrieve Fiddleford. He gently scooped the smaller man in his arms, being careful not to wake him, and carried him off to their room, giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead as he settled down onto their shared air mattress, still in costume.

The next morning came too soon, muffled sounds of music playing throughout the house. Ford awoke with a start, not expecting the sudden noise, and wrapped an arm around Fiddleford’s torso protectively. Fiddleford fought to stay asleep, squeezing his eyes shut and snuggling into Ford, but the sound of Ford’s quickening heartbeat tore through Fiddleford’s sleepy haze.

“Stanford?” He asked, bleary eyed and yawning. “You doing alright over there?”

“Something’s not right,” Ford said, his voice low, listening intently to as the song filtered through the house. “The tune’s right but the lyrics are _off_ … It’s been a while but I’m _sure_ that the chorus had more ‘one crazy mornings’ in it...” He clutched Fiddleford closer to him, slowly lifting them off the mattress. He grabbed his pistol, arming it, and carried Fiddleford with his free hand.

“Stanford what’s going on?” Fiddleford asked. He tried to listen to the song, Bon Jovi’s _One Wild Night_ , for what Ford was talking about, but the lyrics were the same as they always had been. “The lyrics are fine, darling. This song’s pretty recent, I reckon it came out while you were in the portal. Are you sure you’re not confusing it fer a different one?”

“What? Fidds, yes I'm sure.” Ford inched closer to the wall, keeping one hand on Fiddleford and the other on his gun, and moved towards the sound. “What I'm _not_ sure about is how someone managed to produce a song from another dimension, because unless I somehow did it and forgot about it, there's no way that should be _here_.” Ford's breath was quickening, but his face held an eerie calm that Fiddleford hadn't seen before. “...Fidds, this might not be real.” He said, quietly. “There's a whole host of other species with access to hyper realistic simulation technology, we, or more likely I could be trapped inside one.”

“Stanford you're scaring me.” Fiddleford said, meekly. “I'm real, darling, I swear it.”

Ford's grip on Fiddleford tightened as they moved closer to the living room. “I… I hope so. Even if you aren’t, I won't hurt you, Fidds. I don't think I'd be able to bring myself to do that, simulation or not.” He said, quietly. He took a deep breath, trying to steel his nerves for the truth, whatever it may be.

Fiddleford gulped, heartbroken that Stanford was going through something so awful that it was making him question reality, and followed Ford into the living room.

Stan and Soos had set up some speakers in the living room, and Wendy had hooked up her phone to a soundboard and was playing a few songs to test them out. Dipper and Mabel sat on the couch, sorting through their Halloween candy, setting their parent’s old favorites in a small gift bag they’d found in the pantry. None of them quite knew what to do when Ford snuck into the room, Fiddleford in tow and carrying a gun. Soos couldn’t help but take a small step back, despite the fact that he knew or at least thought he wasn’t in any real danger, and Wendy threw her hands up in surrender. Dipper and Mabel stood up, their faces riddled with worry that something was either attacking them or had upset their Grunkle somehow. Stan was the only one who stood still, staring at Ford with concern in his eyes.

“What’s wrong, Ford?” He asked, quietly. The way Ford carried himself reminded Stan too much of the first time Ford smelled freshly mowed grass, of the way Ford had shut down when he touched nylon for the first time, of the normal little things that Ford's brain would suddenly deem terrifying at a moment's notice. “Whatever it is, we'll fix it, okay? It’s going to be alright, you’re not in danger.”

Ford tensed, a million different scenarios of what could be happening running through his head. “It was never real, was it? Stan would never reopen the portal, Fiddleford would stop him before he could. Even if he hadn’t, Dipper and Mabel would have shut down the portal, they _read_ my warnings.” He said, his voice quivering a bit. The gun was aimed at the wall, away from his family, _the simulation of his family, they aren’t real, why would they be, but what if they are,_ the charge would be more than enough to break through any illusions if he could only find a gap in the program.

“Great Uncle Ford...? What do you mean?” Dipper tried to steady his shaking hands that were no better than Ford's. “We're… we're real.”

“It’s that _song_ that tipped me off.” Ford took a deep breath, readying himself for when he’d find a way out of whatever prison he’d been trapped in, readying himself for the realization that none of this was real, that Dipper and Mabel weren’t real and had likely never existed outside a simulated reality, that he was still _trapped_ and trying to find his way home. “You got the tune right, even changed the words up a bit, but it _doesn’t exist in this dimension_.” His eyes were darting around the room, searching for a repeating texture, a glitch, something, _anything_ that would give him a way out of wherever the hell he was. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mabel back away, retreating to who knows where, determination on her face. Where she was going and why, Ford couldn’t say for sure.

“Dr. Pines, it’s just a Bon Jovi song. It came out in like, 2001, you just weren’t around for it.” Wendy said, keeping her voice as steady as possible.

“Yeah, dude.” Soos said. “Everything’s fine, I swear.”

“They’ve never released a song like this, you’re _lying_. I’ve got to give you credit, normally you can’t fool me for as long as you have.” Ford said, letting out a dark chuckle, his arms trembling and finally releasing Fiddleford, who stood by Ford’s side, unsure of what to do or say to get Stanford to snap out of it. “You always get earth textures wrong, wool never feels the way it’s supposed to, the rain is always just a two second loop--” Ford stopped short as he felt a tiny tug on his coat. He looked down to see a very concerned Mabel holding out his sweater to him.

“...Is it because of your sweater, Grunkle Ford? You… You always wear that, too, and if it’s like how you are with your coat…” She said, gently placing the worn sweater in Ford’s hands. “Maybe it'll help you feel better… I think Grunkle Stan has some of your old eighties beans in a container in the fridge, do you want some of those, too? I know how much you like them...” She said, smiling gently at him. “We could make you a bean stanwich!”

Ford eyed Mabel nervously, still a little uncertain if she was real or not, but accepted the sweater nonetheless. He gripped it tightly in his hands, trying to focus on the way the wool yarn felt between his fingers, his heart leaping when he realized that the sweater felt the same as it always had. Before he could really process what was happening, Mabel had taken him by the hand and led him to the kitchen, where she’d opened up the fridge and was trying to reach some beans Stan had stashed in a tupperware container on the top shelf. Ford reached over her head, grabbing the container and heating it up in the microwave, sparing Mabel a nervous glance before grabbing a spoon and trying the beans. The last time he’d had them was in 1982, before he’d fallen through the portal, there was no way that anyone or anything could imitate the taste perfectly.

Ford couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when he found that they tasted _exactly_ the same as they had thirty years prior.

“...Are you feeling better now, Grunkle Ford?” Mabel asked.

“Yes…” Ford said, softly, still clutching the sweater in his hands. “In… In a different dimension, I suppose I heard a version of that song that just… had different lyrics, and I overreacted when I heard it here. I’m… I’m sorry I scared everyone.” He sighed, resting his head in the palms of his hands.

Mabel carefully wrapped her little arms around Ford's torso, patting his back softly. “It’s okay. Everyone is okay, we’re real.” She said. “You're not in the portal anymore.” Ford took a shaky breath, tensing in Mabel’s arms, and returned the hug.

“...Ford? Darlin’, are you feeling better?” Fiddleford poked his head through the kitchen doorway. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw that Ford was hugging Mabel, a sign that he was feeling at least a little safe and sure of his surroundings. He slowly walked towards Ford, not wanting to disturb the sense of peace Ford was slowly regaining.

“Fidds, I’m… I’m so sorry I scared you, are-- are you alright?” Ford asked, practically leaping out of his seat to check on Fiddleford.

Fiddleford placed a hand on Ford’s cheek and gave him a soft smile. “I'm alright. Everyone is okay, Wendy is changin’ the music right now.” He slowly wrapped his scrawny arms around Ford’s shoulders, holding him close. “We ain’t scared, we’re more worried _for_ you than anythin’ else. We all know you’d never harm a hair on our heads.” He said, nestling his head into Ford’s chest, thankful when his heartbeat didn’t sound nearly as frantic as it had earlier. Ford finally relaxed at the touch, curling around Fiddleford protectively, holding him tight.

Mabel grinned wide as Ford and Fiddleford embraced and poked her head back in the other room, “He's okay! Everything's cool, let's keep this party-decorating party rolling!” She said.

Once Mabel left the kitchen, Fiddleford noticed the Tupperware bowl full of beans. “Do you want some real breakfast, Stanford? I can cook somethin’ up for you. Eggs and bacon?”

Ford didn’t say anything at first, simply squeezing Fiddleford tighter in the hug, not wanting to let go, too afraid to say _I’m so glad you’re real, I’m so fucking glad you’re real_. Eventually, Ford took a deep breath, steadying his nerves, and gave Fiddleford a tiny nod. “...I’ll help you.” He said, with a crooked smile on his face.

Fiddleford squeezed Ford one last time before he pulled away. “Alright, eggs and bacon.” He rummaged through cabinets to find a cast iron skillet and set it on the stove. “You know what? How about biscuits too?” He said, pulling out a few ingredients along with a big mixing bowl from the cupboards.

Ford blinked, a little surprised that Fiddleford was offering to make something from scratch, before smiling wide. “Sure, Fidds. If they’re anything like how you used to make them…” Ford trailed off, latching onto memories of homemade biscuits and picnics in the forest and not wanting to let go.

“I'll start on them then, would you preheat the oven fer me?” Fidds got to measuring out flour by sight, not using any utensils, knowing the recipe by heart. He looked in the fridge and was lucky to find some buttermilk that hadn't yet expired. Ford nodded gently, preheating the oven, and stood off to the side, fidgeting with his hands and waiting for Fiddleford’s next order.

“Will you hand me a couple of eggs and that sugar, sugar?” Fiddleford chuckled at his corny joke. “And you can get started on the bacon if you like.”

Ford handed Fiddleford his ingredients, a soft smile on his face, before setting to work on the bacon. “How do you like yours, crispy or burnt?” He asked, lighting the stove and putting it on low, focusing on the way the iron skillet felt heavy in his hand, on the grease from the bacon between his fingertips as he laid the strips out in the pan, reminding himself that this was still real, Mabel had _proved_ it, hoping that the wave of dissociation would pass soon.

“Burnt. Almost black.” Fiddleford said as he added liquid ingredients to dry, and whisked up the dough with ease. He grabbed an empty mason jar and started to cut out circles of dough for the biscuits and gingerly placed each little disk on a baking sheet. “Do you want me to make some gravy too?”

Ford’s hand tightened around the handle of the frying pan, his eyes locked on the sizzling bacon, not daring to look away. He missed Fiddleford’s cooking more than anything, and truth be told, he would _love_ to try his biscuits and gravy again. When Ford was stuck in the portal, traveling from dimension to dimension and eating _anything_ he could get his hands on, he often found himself thinking back on Fiddleford’s cooking, missing it more than anything as he ate whatever wriggling semi-nonpoisonous thing he’d caught that night. “...You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He said, quietly. It would be too much to ask of him, especially after the scare Ford had given everyone not more than five minutes ago.

“It's no trouble! I can whip up some gravy from the bacon you're cookin’, if you make me a couple extra pieces and save me the grease.” Fiddleford said with a wave of his hand, giving Ford a wide smile.

Ford paused for a moment, before slowly adding three more pieces of bacon to the pan. “Thank you.” He said quietly.

Fiddleford crouched down next to Ford to slip the biscuits into the oven just below the stove. He was right at hip level to Ford, and smiled up at him, rather enjoying the view. “Those biscuits should be done in about ten minutes.” Fiddleford stood back up, placing his hand on the small of Ford's back to balance himself, almost retracting it when he felt Ford tense. But suddenly Ford had let go of the frying pan, setting it on an unused burner, and had wrapped his arms around Fiddleford, holding him tightly and never wanting to let go.

“...I’m sorry, I’m so embarrassed....” Ford’s voice was quiet, shaky. “I’m supposed to be a genius and I can’t even figure out what’s real and what’s not…” There was a small, unspoken _thanks for putting up with me_ in Stanford’s voice that didn’t escape Fiddleford’s notice.

Fiddleford pulled back enough to look at Ford's face, placing a hand on his cheek, looking gravely serious. “Stanford, you are brilliant. You are the smartest man I have ever met. There is nothing to be ashamed of, there are plenty of reasons for you to be suspicious, to be cautious, you're trying to protect yourself and all of your family too. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.” Fiddleford slowly leaned in, placing a tiny, quick kiss on Ford’s nose. Fiddleford blinked up at Ford, his heart still fluttered when his eyes met Sanford's. “Stanford, I love you.”

Ford blinked, and his own heart practically leapt from his chest. His eyes went wide and an entirely different type of panic flashed through his body for a split second. Ford pulled Fiddleford into another hug, a wide smile on his face even as tears threatened to spill over his eyes. “I love you, too, Fiddleford. I love you so much…”

Fiddleford gripped Ford's coat and began to cry, almost shaking, laughing between his sobs. “I love you, one thing I remember now is that I've always loved you. Right up until the moment I pulled the trigger an’ forgot everything. ”

Ford's heart sunk when he realized Fiddleford was in tears. “Oh, Fiddleford, I'm so sorry, please don't cry.” He said, pulling back just enough to wipe the tears from Fiddleford's eyes. “I love you, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“It’s a happy cry. Don't ever say you're sorry for lovin’ me,” Fiddleford chuckled through a sniffle.

Ford smiled, and took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. Slowly, gently, he wrapped his hands around Fiddleford’s shoulders, pulling him closer. Ford’s breathing quickened, and if it had been anyone but Fiddleford Hadron McGucket in his arms he’d be shaking like a leaf. Fiddleford relaxed, expecting another hug, but he nearly jumped back in surprise when Ford’s lips connected with his. Fiddleford slinked his arms around Ford's middle, standing on his toes to lean as close as he possibly could with Ford, never wanting to disconnect. Ford was more than a little clumsy, he hadn’t done anything like this in decades, but he supposed Fiddleford wasn’t much better. The knowledge that he had a choice in the situation, that he could end the kiss any time he wanted, allowed Ford to relax into the kiss, sharing every passionate moment of it.

When Fiddleford pulled away for a breath, he batted his eyes and his face flushed. “That was a pleasant surprise.” He said, a wide grin on his face.

Ford ran his fingers through his hair, taking a deep breath, a soft smile playing across his face. “I’m glad you liked it.” He said. “...Do you… Do you want another?”

Fiddleford practically swooned and leaned in for another kiss before the oven timer interrupted him, making him jump. “I-I should… Grab those.” He stammered. “‘Fore they burn.”

Ford scratched the back of his head. “I should probably f-finish the bacon, as well…” He said, smiling.

Fiddleford hesitated to pull away and grabbed the dinosaur shaped oven mitts, hand made by Mabel over the summer, hanging on the wall next to the stove. The biscuits turned out perfectly, flaky and buttery and overall mouthwatering. “These are gonna be so good with some gravy or some jam.” He said, winking at Ford.

“Fidds, I love your biscuits with gravy, you know I do, but I’m too hungry to wait.” Ford said, staring at the biscuits and resisting the urge to eat every last one.

“I'll let you have one, but be careful, they're hot. Save the rest for when the gravy is done.” Fiddleford chided.

Ford couldn’t help but let out a disgruntled sigh, but reached out and took one of the biscuits anyways. “Thanks, Fiddleford.” He said, raising the biscuit in a mock toast before taking a bite. It was most definitely hot, but the taste was so good that Ford didn’t quite care that the inside of his mouth felt like it was on fire.

Fiddleford grabbed a couple pieces of bacon after he set his pan of biscuits down to cool. “After yer done eatin’ that, pour that bacon grease into a jar for me, darlin’.” He said, gathering the flour, salt, and pepper he’d need to make the gravy. He paused, before handing Ford a jar of apricot jam from the cupboard. “An’ those really do taste better with somethin’ on ‘em.” He said, smiling.

Ford took the jar of jam as Fiddleford started on his gravy, letting out a contented sigh and sitting down at the kitchen table.

“Stanford?” Stan’s gruff voice bellowed through the kitchen. “Everything alright in here? I smell burning.” He said, warily walking into the kitchen.

“That’s just Ford’s bacon! Have you and the kids eaten breakfast yet?” Fiddleford said from over the bowl where he was mixing the gravy.

“Uh, no, I don’t think so…” Stan huffed, folding his arms and walking over to the stove, inspecting Ford’s handiwork. “Not bad, eh, Stanford? You, uh, you catch on quick.” Stan said, letting the bacon finish cooking before removing the pan from the stove.

“Doesn't he?” Fiddleford sighed happily, commenting more on Ford's kissing “abilities” than his cooking abilities.

“...Okay _that_ sounded a little too dreamy for me to comment on, I'm gonna need you to turn it down a notch.” Stan said, glancing between the two starry eyed lovers. “So… you're feeling better, right, Ford?”

 Ford stiffened, fighting to push his embarrassment from earlier back down again, before giving Stanley a faint smile. “Yes, Stanley. I'm doing fine.”

“We made biscuits, gravy, bacon, and eggs, so give those kiddos a break and come on an’ eat.” Fiddleford said as he finished up the gravy.

“Wow, thanks Fiddlenerd.” Stan smiled and clapped a hand on Fiddleford’s back. He poked his head out of the kitchen to call to the household, “Kids, Fidds and Ford made breakfast and didn't burn anything for once. Come eat!”

Fiddleford started to make plates for everyone when Dipper, Mabel, Soos, and Wendy came in to see if Stan was right about breakfast that wasn't over-cooked. Dipper stole a seat next to Ford at the kitchen table and gave him a little smile. “I'm glad you're feeling better, Great Uncle Ford.” He turned to face McGucket, “Thanks for breakfast.”

Ford gave Dipper a wide smile, ruffling his hair before getting started on his breakfast. Dipper had been the first person he’d completely trusted in years, and knowing that this child was able to feel comfortable and safe around him warmed Ford’s heart. And while knowing that Dipper had been tricked by Bill only fed the anger Ford held for the demon, it served as a little reminder to not be so angry at _himself_ for trusting Bill. After all, he couldn’t fault Dipper for making a deal with Bill, so why should he fault himself? Of course, Ford could never tell Dipper that. Not right now, at least, he was simply too innocent to know the horrors of what Ford had seen and been subjected to Bill's power, even if he was old enough to understand some of what happened. Still, spending time with Dipper made Ford feel a little less alone on the dark, weird, road he traveled, like there was a faint glimmer of hope in the distance.

“So whaddya think, kids?” Fiddleford asked, dunking a biscuit in the homemade gravy.

“This stuff is great, man.” Wendy said, taking a bite of a biscuit. “Never knew you could cook, McGucket.”

“Aw, shucks, it was nothin’. It feels good to cook fer more than one person, that's fer sure.” He said as he nibbled on his piece of bacon.

“Um, Soos? Could you please pass the gravy?” Ford asked, starting on his third biscuit in almost as many minutes.

“Sure, dude, you still hungry?” Soos asked, passing the little dish of gravy across the table.

“Oh he’s been eating like crazy for the past week!” Stan said. “He’d better slow down sometime, he’s already starting to look like me.”

“You're identical twins, Stan.” Wendy deadpanned.

“I _meant_ in the gut.” Stan said, patting his belly. “Mr. Tummy's got himself a long lost twin!”

Ford nearly dropped the gravy dish, taking a second to process Stan’s words. “Excuse me.” He said, keeping his tone even and standing up from the table, heading for the bathroom. If what Stan was saying was true… Ford shook his head, not wanting to get his hopes up.

“...Ford?” Stan called, looking at his brother’s empty chair, worried now more than ever. Had he said something wrong? Something that made Ford question reality again? Everyone in the room was staring at him, concern rather than accusation in their eyes, but Stan felt guilty all the same. “I’ll go get him…” He said, quietly, before standing up and following Ford.

Ford kicked off his boots, quietly shutting the bathroom door behind him, and removed his trench coat, delicately hanging it over the towel rack. He took a deep breath, and stepped on Stan’s old scale, noting that he weighed about ten pounds more than he had when he went into the doctor’s office last week. _I knew weight gain was a side effect of the medicine but I didn’t expect that **much** so soon… _He thought to himself, slowly lifting up his shirt to get a good look at his torso in the mirror.

Ford’s eyes went wide, and he couldn’t help but let a tiny smile shine through, despite the mess of scars and old tattoos his body had become. His hands traced the skin under his chest, skin and fat having finally filled in the gaps between his ribs that had been there for years. A slight tilt of his neck told him that his collarbones were no longer visible beneath his skin. The way his stomach sagged ever so slightly told him that finally, _finally_ , after all these years of under eating at best and starving at worst, he was _gaining weight_.

“Ford? Are you alright?” Stan said, opening the door to the bathroom. “Look, we’re all _real_ , I swear, I didn't mean to--” Stan stopped short, more than a little confused at the sight of Ford shirtless, grinning at himself in the mirror.

Ford nearly jumped back three feet, ripping his coat from the towel rack with one hand and using it to cover his mangled chest. “Stan! Get _out_!” He wrapped the coat around his shoulders, not bothering to put it on properly, and turned his back on his brother, hunching over in an effort to make himself smaller. “Don’t… don’t look at me…” He said in a quiet voice, trying desperately to hold onto that bit of happiness he’d found not ten seconds earlier. Though a great many of Ford’s scars were made by his own hand, in Ford’s eyes every last one of them had come from a monster.

“Ford… What's going on? I didn't mean to make you get all sensitive about your weight, I didn't think that it would upset you.” Stan said. “You look great, I promise, you're a long way from letting yourself go like I have.”

“Stan, three months ago I would’ve given _anything_ to weigh this much…” Ford said, trying to focus, taking deep breaths, silently begging Stan to just leave him alone. “It’s… It’s not the weight thing.”

“What, is it your scars? Ford, I know you have ‘em. I may not have as many as you, but I've got them too.” Stan lifted his shirt and revealed a row of tiny slashed scars on the side of his torso, next to what looked like burn marks from a cigarette, and turned to show the brand marking his shoulder blade, causing Ford to wince, along with a long and very visible scar on his arm. “I've done some fucked up things, too. Got in some stupid fights, done some fucked up shit to survive, did...” Stan paused, wondering if Ford would understand or if it would only serve to make him more upset. “Did some fucked up things to myself, too…”

Ford gently placed a shaky hand over Stan’s, heartbroken that someone had dared to hurt his brother, that Ford was among them, and _devastated_ to learn that Stan had made some of those scars himself. “I'm sorry… you don't deserve that…” He said, quietly. “Still, I'd, uh, like to get dressed in peace.” Ford caught Stan staring at the tiny x’s over his tattoos, at the patchwork of tiny, deliberate scars just below his elbow, covering some demonic phrase Bill Cipher had carved into his skin decades earlier, and retracted his hand.

“Yeah… Sorry. I'll let you get dressed, and I'll save you another piece of bacon…” Stan slinked out of the bathroom and took a shuddering breath as he shut the door. He had never, in all his years, seen anybody as scarred and mangled as his own brother. He’d been expecting a few, yes, after thirty years off in some sci-fi sideburn dimension it would be a miracle _not_ to have a few scars. But Stanley hadn’t been expecting _anything_ like what he’d seen on Ford’s torso, even if it was only a glimpse. He’d easily recognized scars from Ford’s own hand, little lines and x’s crosshatched over old tattoos, and strange symbols that Stan _knew_ from reading the journals, from trying to decipher the portal’s blueprints, didn’t mean anything good. Knowing that those had come from Ford’s hand broke Stan’s heart, he knew _exactly_ what that road was like, and he could only pray that Ford was no longer in such a dark place. But beyond that, Stan had recognized claw marks, acid burns, tattoos in some foreign language that didn’t exist on earth but still reminded Stan of prison somehow. Stan fought back a lump in his throat, trying not to imagine the stories behind those scars, the people-- no, the _monsters_ that may have tortured Stanford. _No wonder he’s messed up in the head_. Stan thought to himself. _No wonder he can’t trust anyone. It’s… It’s my fault he’s like this now._

Ford took a deep, shaky breath, slipping on his shirt and wrapping his coat closer around his body, leaning back against the bathroom door. _It’s still there… thirty years, and that damned sigil hasn’t faded one bit…_ Ford thought, remembering too vividly the way his own boot had pressed against Stan’s chest, the exact, split-second feeling of _pride_ he’d felt when he was finally able to heft Stan off of him, only for it to come crashing down, twisting and twitching into guilt and panic when he felt Stan collide with the console behind him. Even after all these years, Ford could still remember the sickening way Stan’s skin had _sizzled_ against the heat of the sigil, the way _smoke_ had risen from his shoulder, the way Stan’s body crumpled to the floor, writhing in pain, the sheer _anger_ on Stan’s face when Ford had driven a final wedge between them, seemingly forever. Ford had spent _decades_ on the other side of the portal wrestling with the very real possibility that Stan had died as a result of his injuries, or an infection from the burn, or a supernatural creature he hadn’t been adequately warned about, or a car crash when Stan eventually left to hide the first journal. He’d pushed them down, telling himself over and over again that Stan was _fine_ , he hadn’t died, he was probably living it up, traveling the world like he’d always wanted to, the first journal long hidden, but _there,_ should anyone need the information contained therein. _It still hasn’t healed, hasn’t even faded… After all that, why on earth would he want to put up with me? Why even bother trying to get me back…_ Ford couldn’t comprehend it. What had happened to Ford writhed in the back of his brain, it was eating him from the inside out, but not a single scar on his body had come from Stanley Pines. If any had, Ford was sure he’d never be able to bring himself to trust his brother again. _So why would he trust me?_

Stan returned to the table after the shock had settled, and sat down with a large cup of coffee. “He's fine. He's been trying to out on a few pounds and didn't think he could gain weight so fast. Just wait until he starts breakin’ buttons on his shirts.” He said, forcing a half smile. “...Listen, he might be fine now, but today is probably going to be a bad day for him, ‘specially after what happened this morning. He probably won’t wanna be at the party. If he doesn’t show, don’t pester him about it, alright?”

Mabel and Dipper both nodded, disappointment and worry washed over their faces. They’d seen Ford get like this before, over the summer, when he’d get so bad he wouldn’t leave the house, sometimes not coming out of the basement until someone called him up for dinner, but nothing like this had happened in months. He had been doing so _well_.

Wendy sensed the kids’ unease and stood from her spot at the table. “Alright, guys, we've got a party to start. Mabel, Dipper, wanna help me edit the playlist?” She said, pulling out her phone. “This party’s going to be off the _chain_!”

“Yeah, okay!” Mabel said. “Can we pick out some songs from Sev’ral Timez?”

“I think if we _didn’t_ have a few Sev’ral Timez songs on our playlist my dad would cry.” Wendy laughed.

“I’d cry, too. Those young men can really carry a tune!” Fiddleford said, grabbing everyone’s empty plates and putting them in the dishwasher. “I wonder why they haven’t been makin’ any more fancy teeny bopper songs anymore?”

“They’re living in the forest after I kidnapped them and released them into the wild.” Mabel said.

“They keep rooting through the trash, it’s weird. I saw one of them kissin’ a tree.” Stan said, folding his arms.

“...They're here in Gravity Falls? Would… Would I be able ta meet them? I tried gettin backstage at their last concert.” Fiddleford twiddled his thumbs.

“Stick around long enough after dark and you’ll see some of ‘em scurrying around.” Stan let out a hearty chuckle. “Soos, since the kids are messing around with the playlist, I’m going to need your help settin’ up the rest of the party. You cool staying until one today?”

“Of course, Mr. Pines! I'll stay as long as you need me to get the party all set up. Thanks for letting me have the night off by the way.” Soos responded, putting his empty plate in the sink

“You get the night off every year, don’t act so surprised.” Stan grunted, furrowing his brow and walking into the living room. “Just make sure you spend time with your grandma, yeah?”

“Of course, besides you, my Abuelita is like, my favorite person in the world.” Soos said, following him.

Stan paused, letting out a noncommittal grunt, before moving over to one end of the couch. “Help me lift this, will ya?”

“You got it.” Soos said, lifting his end of the couch with ease. “Where are we moving this?”

“To the gift shop, nowhere else to put it.” Stan said, lifting his own end of the couch and walking backwards towards the gift shop. “We're closing it for the night, this party's going to be so huge, we need the storage space more than the money from the shop.” Stan said, hoping that Soos wouldn't ask too many questions. With Ford on edge, and the possibility of Bill Cipher making his move tonight, it would be best if everybody stayed as far away from the gift shop, and the vending machine, as possible.

“That makes sense… If anything weird and spooky happens tonight, you can call me and I'll be right over. I don't want anyone to get hurt.”

“I think we'll be fine.” Stan said. “But we'll let you know if anything happens. And _you_ call _me_ if anything happens on your end too, alright?” Stan couldn't help but shudder, remembering the look on Ford's face when he'd told him that Bill would get more aggressive on Halloween. A part of him hoped that _that_ was only something he'd done to mess with Ford, sick as it seemed, and not a general rule that could threaten _all_ of them now.

“I will, Mr. Pines. Oh, Abuelita told me to tell you that she’s gonna make you guys some food tomorrow for Dia de los Muertos. You don't have to come tonight, she knows you've got to work. But you guys are in her prayers.” He said as they walked into the gift shop.

Stan paused, setting down his end of the couch. “Thanks, Soos. You… You really didn't have to do that.” He sighed, a light, slow sigh, like a dying man's last breath. “Thanks for helping us out earlier, too… Back when Sherman and Alexandria passed.”

“Of course, dude. You guys are my family, it was no problem to help you out. I think the little dudes are still pretty sad, but they're always gonna be kinda sad… I thought by showing them how me and Abuelita remember our family might help them out too.

Stan's shoulders sagged, but he managed to give Soos a tiny smile. “You've always been there to help us out. It means a lot, especially to an old fart like me.” He sighed. “Right after they passed, Ford was a wreck, _I_ was a wreck. I couldn't even get the kids to eat… There's no way we could've figured out how to get back to Oregon without your help. Look what I'm saying is… Thanks for being there.” Slowly, carefully, he wrapped an arm around Soos, clapping him on the back for good measure.

Soos returned the gesture, wrapping an arm around Stan in a side hug. “Thanks for being there for me, too, Mr. Pines.”

Stan stiffened in the hug for a split second. Even if Soos never talked about it, Stan knew full well that Soos’ father wasn’t around any longer, hadn’t been in over a decade. After finding out what had happened from Abuelita, Stan stormed home and cursed, he’d spat, he’d drank straight from the bottle of brandy, old memories of Filbrick Pines bubbling to the surface, taunting him, pestering him. Giving yet another task Stan would have to complete before getting a shot at having a _family_ again: don’t turn out like Filbrick, and don’t let Soos turn out like _him_. Stan had given Soos the rest of the week off after that night, allowing himself to simmer down and remind himself that he would be a different man than either of their fathers had been, a _better_ man. Stan gently wrapped his arms around Soos, his old, hard, heart melting when he heard Soos’ heartfelt words.

Soos hugged Stan back with full force, patting Stan's back. “I'm here if you need anything, Mr. Pines. I… I love you guys.”

Stan paused for a moment, taking a deep, shaky breath, trying to keep himself together, trying not to-- trying not to-- “We love you too, Soos.” He said, hugging Soos tighter, his gruff voice low and wavering, tears falling down his face, losing their way over a trembling smile that had somehow managed to find its way to Stan’s face. “I-I’m not cryin’, I’ve got some dust in my eyes…”

Soos chuckled, his eyes welling up with tears as well. “It's okay to cry, dude, I'm not telling anybody.”

“If you do I’ll fire you.” Stan grumbled, pulling away from Soos and folding his arms. “I’m _serious_.” He added, though Soos knew that he wasn’t.

Wendy sighed, scouring through music tracks on her phone, leaning back against the parlor room wall. “Do you think your uncle is okay? I didn't mean to freak him out.” She said. “...Would he have been around for _Thriller_? Man, if Bon Jovi scared him like that, I don’t wanna take any chances…”

Mabel and Dipper sat on the floor, huddled around Mabel’s laptop, searching for spooky songs to add to Wendy’s playlist for the party. “I think he’ll be fine…” Mabel said. “He just gets all weird sometimes. Sometimes for really random reasons. Like mowing the grass, or the wrong kind of fabric. Once he got scared of the sky, and he has to know where sounds are coming from, ‘cause once I was watching a movie late at night and he got all mad until I told him it was just coming from my computer.” Mabel sighed, tucking her sweater over her knees. “Mom would’ve been able to explain it better…”

“No, no I think I know what you’re talking about, sort of.” Wendy said. “Like just little things that can make you start to feel terrible. I might not be a psychologist or whatever but I still get what you’re saying.”

“The worst part is we don’t really know what makes him get like this, not even Great Uncle Ford knows.” Dipper said. “I know he’d never hurt us, but it’s still scary seeing him hurt like that… Wherever he was, it was enough to make Fiddleford go crazy in a few seconds, and Ford was over there for who knows how long.”

“Oh, sh--oot, that’s right,” Wendy face palmed. “No wonder the poor guy’s so messed up. He’s probably seen stuff that would make H.P. Lovecraft poop his pants. Cripes, he probably hates me now.”

“I don’t think so. The good news is that random little things can also make him happy again. Just offer to play Dungeons Dungeons and More Dungeons with him and he’ll cheer right up.” Dipper said, offering Wendy a smile. “I think after thirty years of hopping dimensions he's gotten over the worst of it.” He added.

“Maybe you're right…” Wendy said, though a part of her desperately hoped that it wasn't true. Unlike Dipper, she'd seen Ford during the aftermath of what she thought was his worst, and the idea that someone could fall farther than _that_ sent a shiver down her spine. “Okay, so we'll have Thriller on standby…  Any other suggestions? I don't want to freak out your uncle, but Stan will probably fire me if we lose money cause all the songs on the playlist were from the 80s.”

The party started at sundown, and the initial turnout wasn't half bad. Most folks didn't show up to the Mystery Shack Halloween Monster Mash until the party was already rolling, but the hype was high for this year's bash. Stan had pulled out all the stops to advertise the party, cutting corners wherever possible, of course, and had even landed a commercial spot on a local cable channel. The entire Pines family, sans Soos who was spending the night at home, wore their costumes from the previous night, with one minor adjustment on Stan’s part.

“This is _not_ going to be fun in about an hour.” He grumbled, begrudgingly slipping into Ford’s heels.

“Oh you hush,” Fiddleford said, his hands on his hips. “You’re the one who made the bet in the first place!”

“Yeah, because I figured your losing streak would last all night.” Stan huffed.

“An’ how do you think I’d be farin’ if _I_ had to wear them shoes? Yer feet are about twice as big as mine!” Fiddleford cackled. “You… you really think Stanford won’t show up for the party?” He asked.

“He’ll… He’ll probably hide in the gift shop or the basement.” Stan said. “If you want to try and keep him company, be my guest. He might be… _jumpy_ , though, so try not to startle ‘im.”

“He might want his space… But I think I'll check in on him every now and then.” Fiddleford looked himself over in the mirror to make sure his costume was exactly how Mabel intended it to be.

Mabel and Dipper were in charge of tickets for the beginning of the party, giving customers their first scare with their blood drenched Shining costumes. The initial line for tickets was pretty long, and Mabel couldn't wait to ditch and go inside for the party. The second Pacifica Northwest showed up in her regal Duchess Anastasia costume, she made her way to the front of the line, the other townspeople gladly allowing her to cut.

“How much for one ticket?” Pacifica asked, reaching into her tiny clutch purse and pulling out a wad of bills.

“No charge! I told you I would get you in for free!” Mabel pushed Pacifica's hand away. “I've got the hook up.”

“I insist.” Pacifica laid the money on the table, and you could practically hear the cash register noises from Stan's head all the way outside of the Shack.

“Mabel, you know we have to watch the booth until eight.” Dipper said, glancing at his watch, “Pacifica, you'll be alone in there for another--”

“No she won't!” Mabel blurted, covering Dipper's mouth with her hand. “Can't you get _Tyrone_ to cover for me?”

Dipper paused. “...I don’t know… I miss him, but, it’s cold, and i-it might rain later…”

“Get him an umbrella!” Mabel gave Dipper her most pitiful puppy dog eyes. “ _Please,_ Dipper?” She looked excited, almost more excited than she did for her first day at school in Gravity Falls, more excited than she did for her bat mitzvah.

Dipper sighed. “You two wait here. I'll go...get Tyrone.” Dipper skulked away, sneaking past the crowds of people and into Stan’s office, sighing before he turned on the old beat up copy machine, likely one of Ford’s inventions from back in the day. Slowly, carefully, he sat down on the scanner, pressed the button, and let the machine do its work. He hopped off the machine and stepped back when it spat out a flat copy of himself on the floor, holding his breath when the paper started to wriggle and move, forming a fully three dimensional clone of himself.

“T-Tyrone?” He stammered, wringing his hands.

“No, I’m you. But I’ve always wanted the name Tyrone. I like it!” The clone said, resting a finger on his chin. “But I _do_ know who Tyrone really is. Can I be Tyrone Jr?”

Dipper’s shoulders couldn’t help but sag. “Sure… Listen, I need you to cover the booth for me and Mabel until eight.”

“I know the plan, buddy!” Tyrone Jr said. “Oh, and remember to keep a bottle of water handy if we decide to turn on each other! But… do I have to do it all alone? I mean, we’ve kinda got a twin costume thing going on here.”

“Yeah… Is this a three Dipper plan, you think?”

“Why don't we just make a copy of Mabel?” Tyrone Jr said. “That way no one asks questions!”

“...I dunno. One Mabel is enough. Can the world even handle two Mabel’s at once? I’m pretty sure that’s like, an apocalypse scenario type thing.”

“Well the last time we had a bunch of Dippers running around we kind of locked you in a closet and you lost your chance with Wendy, so two Dipper’s probably isn’t a good thing either. Maybe having another Mabel around will just balance everything out? Come on, I know you’re thinking the same thing.”

“I hope we're right… Let's go get her then, and get this over with.” Dipper said, leading Tyrone Jr to the ticket booth.

“Pacifica, meet _Tyrone_!” Mabel said, a wide grin on her face, pointing at the two Dipper’s as they came out of the Shack.

“...So is he like your weird triplet sibling or…” Pacifica said.

“He’s a paper clone!” Mabel said. “He’ll watch the booth for us while we party!”

“Wow. I won't pretend to understand that. So, can we go inside now?”

“Not quite yet. We need to clone Mabel to help me watch the booth.” Tyrone Jr said, grabbing Mabel’s hand and leading her away.

“I-I guess I’ll wait out here with Pacifica then?” Dipper said, twiddling his thumbs. “So… your house has been ghost free, right?” He asked Pacifica.

“As far as I know, yeah. Thanks again for that. I don't think I would have been able to open that gate and break the curse if you hadn't been there…” Pacifica said, smoothing out the fabric of her dress.

“So how does this thing work, exactly?” Mabel was perched atop the copy machine, Tyrone Jr fiddling around with some of the buttons. “I just kinda sit here or…?”

“Yeah, hang on a sec, Mabel.” Tyrone Jr mumbled. “Got it!” There was a bright flash of light, and soon enough, a perfect clone of Mabel popped out of the machine.

“So I guess I exist now, or something.” The clone said, dusting herself off. Tyrone Jr grabbed a marker, and wrote a two on the clone Mabel’s hand.

“Alright, you’re now Number Two!” He said, puffing out his chest.

“No way! I’m Mabel 2.0! The Paperback Edition!” Mabel 2.0 exclaimed, pointing her finger in the air.

“Awesome!” Mabel high-fived her clone. “Wow, high fiving paper feels so weird! I like it! Now that Tyrone Jr has a friend, let’s get to our places people! I’ve got an heiress to hang out with!” She said, practically running back out the door to rejoin Dipper and Pacifica, leaving Mabel 2.0 and Tyrone Jr. to man the ticket booth.

Pacifica waited for Mabel by the snack table, eyeing some suspicious ‘witch’s brew’ punch in a bowl fogging over with dry ice.

“HEY GIRL!” A deep and boisterous voice made Pacifica jump and clutch her heart, and let out a breath of relief to see Candy and Grenda approaching from across the room.

“Oh, it’s just you.” She said, regaining her composure. “Mabel and Dipper will be joining us in a few minutes. Apparently they’re making living clones of themselves out of paper?”

“Mabel told us about those! We tried copying my magazine boys but they came out too small or only as torsos.” Candy said, adjusting the snakes in her hair to stick up. “Mabel is going to be excited that you came to the party! She hasn’t stopped texting us about it all day.”

“Really?” Pacifica said, a tiny blush creeping across her face.

Grenda elbowed Candy and whispered, a little too loudly, “Candy! We’re supposed to keep it on the down low!”

“Oops, sorry.” Candy covered her mouth and cleared her throat. “So… What is your costume? You are some kind of princess?”

“I’m the Duchess Anastasia.” Pacifica said, holding her chin up. “It was… the only thing I could wear that my parents would let me out of the house in.”

Mabel appeared behind Pacifica and tapped her on the shoulder. “It’s really pretty… Your costume! Your costume is pretty.” Mabel smiled, thinking to herself, _Oh yeah, you’re smooth._

“Oh! Uh, thanks, Mabel. You look pretty-- scary. Pretty scary.” Pacifica said, earning a giggle from Candy and Grenda.

Mabel poured a cup of the bright green punch from the bowl and handed it to Pacifica. “Have you tried the punch yet? I made it. It’s witch’s brew.”

“What is that…? Is it sugar free?”

Candy and Grenda nearly bust a gut laughing.

“Pacifica, when it comes to Mabel, _nothing_ is sugar free!” Candy said, gasping for breath.

“Please, will you at least try it, Pacifica?” Mabel asked.

Pacifica took a deep breath, ignoring the fear of her parents finding out she had something outside of her usual sugar allowance, and took a sip of the punch.

“...This is delicious.” Pacifica said, awe in her voice. “You made this?”

“Yep! It was pretty easy, and if you really like it, I bet I can find a way to make it sugar free.” Mabel said, her smile wide. “Come on, let's go find Dipper and get this Halloween party started!” She grabbed Pacifica's hand and led her out to the dance floor to search for Dipper, but came to a halt when an upbeat pop favorite of hers started up. “I love this song! Paz, wanna dance with me?”

Pacifica blinked in surprise, but shrugged and said, “Alright. I like this song too.” She yelped in surprise when Mabel held her hands tight and spun her around, laughing all the while. There was something about the way Mabel Pines’ laugh that made Pacifica’s hard outer exterior melt, her shields lowered and she was vulnerable to Mabel's charm.

“You dance really well, Pacifica.” Mabel said, beaming, her braces catching the lights of the dance floor. “I'm really glad you came tonight.”

“It was a lot of trouble to get out of the house… But I think it was all worth it.” Pacifica tried speaking over the loud music, not exactly sure if Mabel heard her, but received a smile and a nod anyway.

The song faded out, and Mabel kept dancing for a few seconds, until she recognized the slower tempo of the new song. She stopped in her tracks and looked at Pacifica with wide eyes, speaking a little too loud. “So how about more snacks? Maybe we'll find Dipper, you know how he likes to eat.”

Pacifica smoothed out her dress sheepishly and nodded. “Yeah, let's… Do snacks.”  She quickly regained her cool composure and followed Mabel to the corner of the room, waiting in line to get to the snacks. “What time does this thing end? My parents want me home as soon as it does. I told them eleven.”

“Oh, you’re… not sleeping over?” Mabel said. “Uh, I think it’ll go on until about twelve, but Grunkle Stan can give you a ride at eleven if that’s when you need to go home! I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“It’s not that I don't want to stay, but my parents never let me sleepover at someone else's house. They're sending the limo to come and get me. They rarely let me out of the house anymore, I'm lucky I got to show up.”

“Were… were they _that_ mad that you opened the gates at the gala? You saved everyone, right?”

“I got grounded for two weeks. No cellphone, extra golf lessons, they cut back my diet, added a jogging routine to my usual workout, and pushed my bedtime really early too. I hate getting grounded. They don't like when I talk to people they don't have connections with.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait, _diet_?” Mabel asked. “The cellphone thing sounds like a normal grounding thing but what’s that about a diet?”

Pacifica blinked and looked away. “Normal diet stuff. Counting my calories, only small sugar free, low carb, low fat meals. So I look the way I'm supposed to.”

Everything Pacifica was saying about dieting was the exact opposite of everything Alexandria Pines had ever told her, sending a strange shiver down Mabel’s spine. _Wait, what was that Grunkle Ford said to watch out for? People who try to control you and isolate you from your friends and family…_ Mabel inched closer to Pacifica, gently nudging her hand. “So… who _do_ you talk to? I mean, I know you’ve got us… but…”

“Heather and the others sometimes. But I never talk about this stuff. I probably shouldn't even be telling you all of this.”

“Why not? Pacifica if they’re mean to you…” Mabel faltered. Ford had told her that these things were often hard to catch, and if she was wrong… She’d have to get more information from

Pacifica before she did anything.

“Forget I said anything, okay? Just… I'm fine. I don't have anything to complain about, I can have whatever I want, and I should be grateful for what I have…” Her parent’s words flew out of her mouth, her ears ringing with a god awful sound. “My parents might have almost gotten everyone turned into trees but they're good parents, okay?”

“Okay… That's, uh, that's good, because if they weren't Grunkle Ford would probably kick their butts.” Mabel said, twiddling her thumbs. _Maybe I'm getting worked up over nothing…_

“Yeah… Thanks.” Pacifica looked away and held her hands together in front of herself, clearing her throat.

Wendy sighed, pouring herself another glass of punch and adjusting the floppy hat that went with her scarecrow costume, and leaned against the wall next to Dipper. “So how’d you manage to ditch the ticket booth this time around?” She asked, taking a sip of her punch.

“Oh, um… Paper clones. Long story.” Dipper chuckled nervously. “You enjoying the party?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s better than last year. Stan tried to start a round of twister, it got pretty lame. The guy just can’t make teens like him, it’s weird.” Wendy said, shaking her head. “He’s a hell of a lot better at scaring teens, anyways. Did you see his hot air balloon at the Woodstick Festival?”

“Oh, yeah. That almost killed us.” Dipper said, taking a sip of his own punch. “Oh, remember the time he ate thirty seven boxes of cereal to enter that sweepstakes?” He nudged Wendy’s arm. “At least it was Leprechaun O’s. He likes them almost as much as Grunkle Ford does.”

Wendy sighed, scanning the crowd for the author of the journals. “I guess he decided not to come…” She said, her shoulders sagging a bit. “I never thought I'd be able to scare someone like him so much…”

“Hey, it's not your fault, you didn't know. And… And I don't think he's scared, exactly.” Dipper said. “I think it's more like his brain is tricking him into thinking that there's danger when there's not. Like he's used to sleeping with one eye open, and I wouldn't be surprised if he actually _does_ sleep like that. And he's still adjusting to being safe. This is nothing, he didn't leave the basement for _days_ when he first got back. Like, he only came up for dinner, and the occasional monster. At first I thought he just didn't like me, but he… really enjoys playing Dungeons Dungeons and More Dungeons with me. And he trusts me. But, yeah, sometimes he still spends all day inside, and he hates crowds, so I'm not surprised he skipped the party.”

“Are you sure he's gonna be okay all alone with the all of these people in the house? Maybe someone should go check on him…” Wendy tugged at her shirt collar. “I could go.” Wendy felt guilty enough that she had triggered Ford’s panic attack that morning, she needed to make sure it didn't happen again.

“I guess that'd be alright.” Dipper said. “He's probably hungry, I think some cupcakes and a glass of punch will help cheer him up. He's probably in the gift shop or in the basement. Do you know how to get in?”

“Yeah, I know my way in. Thanks, Dipper.” Wendy finished off her punch and made Ford a plate of snacks to take to the gift shop, giving Dipper a smile as she left.

Ford sighed, leaning back against the cash register in the gift shop, squinting through the dim light provided by Stan’s old lantern. Being cooped up in the gift shop had started to wear on his nerves, and he’d taken to sketching on some paper he’d found on lying around the shop. Little things, himself, Stanley, and Fiddleford as what he’d dubbed “The Frankencrew,” a few monsters he’d discovered throughout the multiverse, even an alternate version of Stanley and Fiddleford he’d met once, a long, long time ago. He drummed his fingers against the page, his shoulders sagging.

He was supposed to be at the party. He’d told Stanley that he would be there, he’d looked so _happy_ that Ford was coming and it was the first Halloween they’d get to spend together in _decades_ , and Ford was hiding in the gift shop like a coward. And yet, whenever Ford would work up the nerve to leave the gift shop, to go join in everyone else’s fun, something in the back of his head wouldn’t let him. _No, I can’t go out there, what if I have another panic attack, what if I hurt someone, what if I slip up and let Bill get the rift? I already ruined everybody’s morning, there’s no reason to ruin their party as well. They wouldn’t want me there anyways, I’d just say or do something that would make them upset, or Fiddleford could remember why he’s… why he’s supposed to hate me now. I should face facts, I’m destined to be alone. I’m too dangerous for…_ Ford sighed, resigning himself to the panicked thoughts racing through his mind, staring at his fingers as they tapped against the page. _I’m too dangerous for normal people._ Ford pulled his coat closed around him, forgetting the sketches he’d made for now, and tried to focus on calming himself down. _You’re better than this, Stanford. You can outsmart this, you know how it works, just breathe deeply, and focus. You have a standard to hold yourself to, you have to meet it if you want to be remembered fondly when you’re gone… You have to get through this and make up for all the mistakes you’ve made. You don’t have to be dangerous, you don’t have to drive everybody away._ Ford breathed deeply, trying to focus on the way his chest rose and fell, running a hand through his hair. _Nobody’s going anywhere, you’re not going anywhere, Stanley isn’t going anywhere, Dipper and Mabel aren't’ going anywhere… Fiddleford… Fiddleford is going to leave you the second he finds out what you’ve done, you’ve got to accept that and try to prevent it. If he takes that memory gun to his head it’s on your hands, another item on the long list of mistakes you’ve made._ Stanford’s form was still, a tiny hunched figure in the darkness, the only indication that he was even there came from the lantern by his side.

Ford couldn’t help but flinch when he saw a tall, lanky figure walk into the room, peering around in the darkness. He stood up from his place on the floor, grabbing the lantern in one hand and reaching for his weaponized knitting needles with the other. “...Wendy? Is that you?” He asked, staring down the figure as he illuminated it with the lantern, breathing a sigh of relief when it _was_ Wendy, when there was no hint of Bill Cipher in her eyes.

“Yeah, it’s just me.” She said, holding out a small plate of mini cupcakes (that had been covered in bat shaped sprinkles by Mabel that morning) and a glass of punch. “I, uh, thought you might be hungry, so… here.”

Ford gingerly accepted the food, carefully unwrapping one of the cupcakes, but he set the punch aside. He knew that Mabel had made it with care, and he'd love to try it, but the thought of the drink being drugged wouldn't leave him be. “Thank you, Wendy.”

“You doing okay down here? It’s not too loud or anything?” Wendy asked, concern in her voice apparent.

“Yes, yes I'm fine.” Ford said, taking a bite of the cupcake. “It's nothing to worry about, I prefer my space…” He added.

“Yeah… So I’ve heard…” Wendy took a seat on the floor next to Stanford. “Stan actually put on a great party this year. Probably because he had you and the kids to help him out. I don't think me and Soos alone are enough to pull off one of Stan's crazy schemes.” She chuckled lightly and pulled her knees up to her chest.

Ford sighed, absentmindedly tearing at the cupcake wrapper. “...Is he upset that I missed the party? This was… our first Halloween together in a very long time.”

“He seems to be doing okay, he’s been sneaking up behind people and scaring them. McGucket is usually a couple feet behind him, laughing his ass off because Stan is wearing heels for some reason. I bet he'd love for you to be there, but we all understand that you need a break from people sometimes. I think everyone does.” Wendy said. “He actually told us not to bother you about not coming, so I'm pretty sure that he's not mad or anything, if that's what you're worried about. We’re just all glad you’re okay.” Wendy lightly punched Ford’s arm in an attempt to seem friendly and relaxed, though she was really worried about setting Ford off again by accident.

“I’m glad he’s not too bothered by it…” Ford said, his voice quiet.

“Bothered by it? Dude, Stan really cares about you. I don’t think you’re bothering him at all.” Wendy said. “And, hey… I’m sorry about this morning.”

“Hm? Oh, oh, no it wasn’t your fault…” Ford said, placing a hand on Wendy’s shoulder. “ _I_ overreacted, what happened this morning wasn’t because of anything you did.” He sighed. “And with Stan… I suppose I mean… I’ve failed him so many times in the past… He’s my brother, he _needed_ me, and I wasn’t there to help him. Tonight would have been our first chance to-- to really _connect_ after spending a lifetime apart, and I can’t bring myself to leave the gift shop.”

“Dude, no one blames you.” Wendy said. “And… I think I’m starting to get what’s happening. I kind of kick major ass, I mean… I beat up a unicorn over the summer, I fought some ghosts, I could break a grown man’s arm if I needed to. And I act super chill all the time. But I’m stressed, like, twenty-four/seven. Have you _met_ my family?”

“If your father is the Dan Corduroy I’m thinking of, then I believe he built this very house.” Ford said. “He’s very… intense.”

“Yeah. And, it’s not like, his fault or anything, far from it… but sometimes I can’t trust people, and I just… need a break.” Wendy said. “Like, just hanging out by myself, and chilling. My family doesn’t really give me crap for it, it’s just a thing that happens sometimes, you know? They understand.”

Stanford paused, giving Wendy a tiny smile. “I suppose that’s something we have in common.” He said. “...For a long time, Stanley was the only one who understood. I suppose that’s one thing that hasn’t changed with time.”

“That's what families do.” Wendy said, taking off her scarecrow hat, bits of hay falling to the floor. “What good family does, anyway.”

“I suppose you’re right…” Ford said, quietly. “I’m fine, really. If you want to get back to the party, you can go ahead. There’s some things I have to take care of… And then I believe I’m ready to make an appearance.” He said, smiling a bit.

Wendy nodded softly, giving Ford a thumbs up before leaving to rejoin the party.

“And the cheapskate customer _still_ bought nothing,” Stan said. He was sitting on a stool, surrounded by small children, telling them a spooky story so their parents could enjoy the party a  little bit… for a small fee of course. “So Mr. Mystery grabbed his trusty ax, snuck up behind the stingy customer, and said ‘Still don’t like my attractions? I’ve got one more to show you! It’s a real… _treat!_ ’ Then he _hacked him to bits_ , stuffing him and mounting him on the wall as an attraction himself!” He said, waggling his fingers, holding a flashlight up to his face, earning a few screams from the children. “So don’t forget to buy something from the Mystery Shack, or you might _never come out alive!_ ”

Fiddleford then popped up from behind Stan, shrieking and holding a very fake plastic axe, held together with mostly scotch tape. “ _Buuyyy soooomethinggg_!” He screamed in as horrifying a voice as he could muster.

Half of the children screamed, most of them laughing at Old Man McGucket wielding an axe.

“Oh no, quick, run! Don’t forget to leave a tip!” Stan screamed. “Save yourselves, but don’t save your money!” The children scrambled, giggling and yelling as Fiddleford chased them off.

“I reckon that oughta spook ‘em.” Fiddleford said, setting down the fake axe, grinning wide.

Stan let out a bellowing laugh, picking up a large tip jar from its spot on the ground and examining the contents. “Fiddleford, I think this is our most profitable Halloween yet!”

“Well, that’s swell. I’m havin a mighty good time. Usually I spend Halloween gettin’ egged at the junkyard an’ gatherin’ up bits of newspaper to heat my old hovel and eatin leftover jack o'lanterns! They’re mighty delicious roasted over an burning car battery.” He said, taking a seat on the stool Stan had been using.

“Oh, damn. I never thought about eating jack o’lanterns, that’s brilliant.” Stan said, folding his arms. “But I’d be lying if I said I’ve never taken a bite of those jack o’melons this town puts out on Summerween, even if I wasn’t… usually starving while I was livin’ here.”

“I enjoy havin’ groceries regularly, but sometimes rummagin’ around for food was an adventure, seein’ what you could rustle up ta eat. I once made a casserole from leftovers from the dumpster at the diner, it wasn’t half bad!” Fiddleford said.

“Heh, once I was squatting in an old motel, had to lay low for a little while. Couldn’t afford real food so I managed to catch and eat a couple of rats, had to figure out how to cook ‘em over the radiator.” Stan said. “It tasted… kinda gamey? Smelled weird, too, but maybe that was just the way I’d cooked ‘em.”

“Maybe we could trade recipes sometime. I’d be lyin’ if I said I’d never eaten rat before.” Fiddleford said, chuckling.

“Maybe…” Stan scratched the back of his neck, picking at the fake bolts that he’d taped to his skin to complete his Frankenstein costume. “S’funny, how we’ve got two of the smartest people in the world in our little family, but all three of us were homeless at some point...”

“Strange how things turn out, huh?” Fiddleford said, forcing a smile. “What’s important is that we all have each other now, ain’t it?” He added, looking up at Stan.

“Yeah.” Stan said, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “Yeah, I guess we’re all together now, a real dynamic trio if you ask me. You and Ford have your computers and shit, and I’ve got the Mystery Shack. How’s that coming along, anyways?”

“Oh,” Fiddleford scratched his beard. “Oh, we’re still rummaging around for parts, we can’t exactly just reuse old laptop husks from other companies. We want to get a decent amount of stock before we start sellin’ them. An’ things have been slow goin’, what with everyone helpin’ out with yer fancy Halloween hootenanny you got here. I reckon we’ll start sellin’ computermajigs by Christmas.” Fiddleford said. “I’m glad to be doin’ something like this with Stanford. S’like how things used t’be between us again… Except there ain’t no polydimensional meta vortex threatenin’ the end times this go around.” He said, smiling.

“...Yeah, the portal, that’s what it was…” Stan grumbled. “Well, I hope you and Ford do well for yourselves, I guess.”

“I hope so, too. Things… Thing’s ain’t been so good between me n’ Tate lately. I’m almost hoping that once I can prove I can be successful at somethin’, he’ll wanna talk to me again…” Fiddleford said, tugging at his lab coat.

“...I know the feeling.” Stan said, his voice quiet. “Just… just don’t beat yourself up about it… alright? Tate’s a good man, but if he’s makin’ you feel worse about yourself...” Stan trailed off, unsure of what to say that would keep Fiddleford from making the same mistakes he had all those years ago.

“Oh god…” Fiddleford’s face went white, standing up from the stool and backing towards the wall.

“What is it?” Stan asked. “You… You doing alright there?” He tried scanning the crowd to see what Fiddleford was looking at, but he couldn’t make anything out.

“It’s _Tate_ , he’s _here_.” Fiddleford said, pointing out into the crowd. “I… I can’t face ‘im, the last time we spoke, he…” Fiddleford was trembling. “I wasn’t too good of a father to ‘im, I don’ think… He doesn’t want to talk to me anyhow, I _can’t_ …”

“If you need to get outta dodge, I think Ford’s still holed up in the basement.” Stan said, catching sight of Tate in the crowd. “I think you might be able to work things out, but if you’re not up for that, Ford’ll more than understand, trust me.” Stan patted Fiddleford on the back, giving him a reassuring smile.

Fiddleford nodded, shaking like a leaf, and scampered out of the room, away from the party, away from _Tate_ , someplace where Tate couldn’t find him and reject him again, where he couldn’t humiliate his son once again. He rounded the corner, into the gift shop, squeezing past the couches and tables that Stan and Soos had moved in there earlier, squinting to see in the dark, and bumping straight into a tall, rock of a man.

“Oof!” Fiddleford stumbled backwards, reaching out to catch himself on something. “Sorry, I was just-- Oh, sorry Stanford.” He stammered, scratching the back of his head, taking notice of the man in front of him, holding a lantern to their faces, illuminating them in the darkness. Ford’s eyes met Fiddleford’s, and Ford couldn’t help but sigh with relief to see that Fiddleford hadn’t been possessed.

Ford reached out, taking Fiddleford by the hand. “Sorry, Fidds, I didn’t see you there, I was just about to--” Ford stopped short, taking in Fiddleford’s shaken appearance. “Are… Are you alright? Did something happen?” He said, worry on his face.

“It’s _Tate_ , he’s here, I can’t face ‘im, not yet…” Fiddleford said. “He’s probably still mad at me, an’ I can’t say I don’ deserve it… I-- I haveta _hide_ I-I don’t know what to _do_...” He said, trembling, gripping Ford’s hand tighter.

“...Come on, Fidds.” Ford’s voice was quiet, understanding. “Let’s go behind the vending machine. He won’t wander in there…” Ford said, wrapping an arm around Fiddleford’s and leading him over to the vending machine, pausing to let it swing open. Fiddleford leaned in closer to Ford, and the two sat down on the steps leading to the elevator.

“I’m _sorry_ , I jus’ can’t _embarrass_ ‘im again…” Fiddleford said, his voice quivering. “S’bad enough the town kook’s his big ol’ failure of a father… He don’t need more shame now that he’s married…” Fiddleford leaned against Ford, who wrapped Fiddleford in big, safe arms. “I miss ‘im more’n _anything_ , I haven’t talked to ‘im in _months_ , but he don’ want me around…”

“...Wait, months?” Ford asked, his voice soft. “...But that would mean… He-- Did he try to help you? When you were… when you were l-living in the dump?” Ford held Fiddleford closer, his heart sinking that his lover was so upset, that truly _no one_ had thought to help Fiddleford in his time of need. That _he_ wasn’t there to help Fiddleford when he needed him most.

“He used to bring me food… and he would check on me when the weather got real bad. I used to live with him, when things got really bad, but I messed up his house... and he got himself a gal, and I couldn’t be a burden on ‘im no more.” Fiddleford said, tucking his knees to his chest. “I’m a crazy ol’ coot that never did nothin’ good for nobody, he’d never want a father like me. His mother never wanted a husband like me, neither, I suppose. She left me a’fore I even had the chance to come up here in the first place… I failed ‘em both…”

“Fidds, you are a wonderful father. I remember the summers Tate would spend with you here in Gravity Falls… You were always so caring, you… you _listened_ to him, you never raised a hand against him.” Ford said. “No matter what happened, or what Tate did, you never made him feel any less of himself for his interests. I used to enjoy those summers with you and Tate so much... And anything that happened between you and him after the… after your memories were erased is squarely my fault.”

“Erasin’ my memories was _my choice_. I did this all to myself...” Fiddleford’s voice wavered.

“...I was the one who made you want to forget, though.” Ford said, quietly. “You’ll… You’ll have to talk to him about it eventually… If he’s anything like how he was thirty years ago, he’ll _understand_ , Fidds. You’re not the worst father that ever was, _believe me_.”

“Stanford… I wish I had as much faith in me as you do.” Fiddleford sighed, relaxing into Ford’s arms. “I really hope you’re right.”

“...Do you remember this morning? When… When I asked if you wanted a-another… another kiss? And we had to finish making breakfast before you could answer?” Ford scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “...Would… Would another kiss help cheer you up?”

Fiddleford perked up a little, his heart beating out of his chest. “I don’t believe it would hurt.” He wiped his watery eyes and managed a smile.

Ford blushed, smiling in return, and took a deep breath. He gripped Fiddleford’s shoulders gently, slowly pulling him closer, until their lips met. Fiddleford slipped his arms around Ford’s shoulders, careful not to touch his neck this time around, melting into the kiss. Ford allowing Fiddleford this close was a moment to be savored, the two of them kissed almost cautiously. Fiddleford worked up the nerve to slip into Ford’s lap to get closer, feeling more passionate as Ford gently held Fiddleford to his chest. Fiddleford slowly moved his hands to rest on Ford’s chest, sighing happily into him.

“...Feeling better?” Ford’s voice was quiet, not wanting to spoil the moment.

“Absolutely.” Fiddleford smiled softly and leaned his head against the crook of Ford’s neck, setting his hands down in his lap. “You’re… You’re a mighty fine kisser.” He said.

“Oh! Yes… I suppose I am.” Ford said, his face beet red. He shifted his weight, trying to get comfortable with Fiddleford in his lap, trying to ignore the way the fabric of his shirt caught and bunched on Fiddleford’s lab coat. Fiddleford almost let out a tiny yelp, grabbing Ford’s torso to steady himself.

It had been an accident.

Fiddleford jumped when his hand collided with a bit of Ford’s exposed stomach, making Ford inhale sharply, a panicked noise escaped his throat. The touch had been brief, but it had felt like a red hot iron had been pressed up against Ford’s skin, and suddenly the only thought on Ford’s mind was _run_.

Ford was on his feet in a matter of seconds, pushing Fiddleford up the stairs, towards the vending machine, as gently as he could manage while his every instinct screamed at him to get away.

“S-Stanford, I’m sorry!” Fiddleford stammered. Ford wasn’t listening, he was searching for an escape route, he couldn’t leave Fiddleford alone in the basement, he couldn’t go up into the gift shop, the only way out was to go down the stairs and hide in the elevator. He spun on his heel, leaping down five steps at a time towards the elevator as he felt all his instincts fall into a steady thrum in the edges of his mind, blocking out anything that wasn’t _run away, it’s not safe here, run away or fight it off whatever it is. Don’t let it touch you, don’t get another scar, just **run**._

Fiddleford stumbled to his feet and chased after Ford, calling out, “Ford! Stanford, I didn’t mean to! I’m _so sorry_ , Stanford, I’m not gonna hurt you!”

The elevator door couldn’t open fast enough, Ford had to fight to not take his weaponized knitting needles for a field test, but _finally_ they opened just as Fiddleford made it halfway down the flight of stairs. Ford darted inside, pressing his back to the wall and practically punching the button to close the elevator doors on his way in. “D-don’t _t-touch me_.” He managed to stammer out, just as the doors closed on Fiddleford’s hurt face.

Fiddleford leaned against the elevator doors and slid down to the floor, his head in his hands, whimpering, “I’m sorry. Ford, I didn’t mean to touch you… I promise, I’m not going to hurt you, not _ever._ ” Fiddleford tucked his knees to his chest, tears forming in his eyes. _You messed up, you hurt him, he can’t trust you again, you’ve hurt him. He’s too **fragile** , you’re going to **mess this up** , just like you did with Tate. All you do is **scare people away**._

Ford wrapped his coat around him, tight, almost too tight, leaning against the wall of the elevator, taking deep, shuddering breaths in a desperate attempt to calm himself. _Damnit damnit **damnit**.You fucked up, you scared the hell out of him, that kiss was supposed to make him feel better not **worse** … Calm down, calm down, calm the fuck down, it’s just Fiddleford, it’s just Fiddleford, you **know** he won’t hurt you, not like that, never like **that** , it’s all your fucked up brain. You’re stronger than this, you know you are, you **have to be** , you’re stronger than everything else in this god forsaken dimension, you could have hurt him if you hadn’t ran and hid. Things weren’t supposed to **be this way** you’re not supposed to panic at the slightest touch like a **freak**._

For a long time, Ford stood against the cold, dark walls of the elevator, trembling against the panic that clutched at his throat that begged him to scream and run and hurt and kill whatever was trying to hurt him. Eventually, Ford reached for the elevator’s control panel, opening the doors with shaky hands.

“F-Fiddleford?” His voice was quiet, shaky. The only source of light came from the lantern at the top of the steps.

Fiddleford sat up, looking up at Ford with tired eyes. “Stanford, I’m s-so sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“It’s… It’s not your fault, Fidds…” Ford sunk to his knees, shoulders sagging. His heart was still pounding in his chest, but his instincts were no longer screaming at him to get away. “It’s not your fault… I’m just fucked up about people touching me, it’s not your fault.”

“I’d never do _anything_ to hurt you, Ford…” Fiddleford’s voice quivered, slowly reaching out to place a reassuring hand on Ford’s shoulder, almost afraid the man would break at the touch. “I’m so sorry, I’d _never_ hurt you…”

“...I know.” Ford said, leaning forward and wrapping his arms around Fiddleford. “I know you’d never hurt me, I… I _trust you_ not to.” Ford was shaking again, holding onto Fiddleford for dear life. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to _panic_ like that, I’m so _sorry_.”

“Darling, there’s nothin’ to be sorry, for...”

“I don’t… It wasn’t supposed to be like this, I’m so sorry, I just…” Ford squeezed his eyes shut, hoping against hope that he could somehow make Fiddleford understand. “I’m not supposed to panic like that, something’s wrong, and even though I know what it is now, I don’t know if I can _fix it_ … The medicine they gave me won’t start working for another week at best, I just… I just don’t _know_ what to do… This didn’t used to happen, it didn’t used to be this way, I used to be able to handle people touching me. I miss it so _much_ , Fidds.” He stammered. “And I… I know it’s been thirty y-years, I know th-things have changed but… I don’t really feel like I c-can say I’m _from_ this dimension a-anymore…”

“...Stanford what are you saying?” Fiddleford fought to keep his tone even.

“I’ve done the calculations dozens of times, every single memory I have matches up with Stanley’s _perfectly_ , this _is_ the dimension I’m _from_ , but I still feel like an-- like an _outsider_.” Ford fought to choke back a sob. “I-- I miss the eighties, Fidds, I miss how I remember _home_ being. I miss waiting for Return of the Jedi and the next Space Odyssey, I miss Buck Rogers and Battlestar Galactica, I miss Mars Bars and the way Sugar Daddies taste, I miss Bon Jovi songs that didn’t make me question _reality_ and I miss the way Dungeons Dungeons and More Dungeons used to look and I _miss the way we used to be_ , you’re the only thing left and I can’t-- I c-can’t even do that right.” Ford stammered.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, Ford. It can be just like it used to, I promise.” Fiddleford said, gently rubbing circles in Ford’s back. “I… I know what it’s like to be homesick like that, to just want to turn back the clock, get a second chance.”

“I'm sorry… It’s an awful feeling.” Ford said, his voice quiet, holding Fiddleford closer.

“An’ I’m sorry that you have to feel it. I get homesick sometimes myself, but I’m not quite sure just where home is…”

Ford pulled back, looking into Fiddleford’s eyes, resting his hands on his shoulders. “...Do you want home to be here? With all of us? With… with me?” He spoke quietly, wondering if it was even worth it to ask when any day now Fiddleford could remember the accident with the portal and hate him again. “I… I can’t promise that it’ll help with the homesickness… Lord knows it hasn’t for me at least, but…” Ford took a deep breath. “But life’s better with you in it.”

Fiddleford’s voice quivered and his eyes watered as he spoke, “Stanford… I’d be honored. Life is better with you in it, too. You and your family, you’ve all helped me so much.”

Ford gently wiped the tears from Fiddleford’s face, hugging him close. “Of course, we all love you, _I_ love you, so much.” And suddenly, something in Ford’s heart sparked to life, like an old engine, shuddering and skipping and making too much noise, a cacophony pounding in his chest. He couldn’t understand it, he could name every hormone and neurotransmitter that was causing the reaction but he could never hope to describe the sensation to someone else. _Something_ was wrong with this, Ford knew it in the back of his head, but he also knew that if he tried to stop now, to turn back and get out before the other shoe dropped, his heart would collapse, broken beyond repair when he’d just gotten it to _function_ again. Something tore through his heart, something that hadn’t been there in nearly thirty years: _hope_.

In that moment, he realized without a doubt that he _loved_ Fiddleford Hadron McGucket.

Ford smiled, leaning in close to Fiddleford, resting his head on Fiddleford’s shoulder, holding him tight. Fiddleford closed his eyes and relaxed against Ford, happy that everyone was calm now, that everything was peaceful and happy and _right_ in the world. Ford’s breathing was steady, he’d finally, _finally_ calmed down, and he felt a wave of happiness wash over him when he felt Fiddleford relax in his arms. The fact that someone could even begin to feel safe in those arms, the arms that had hurt and killed and done whatever else it took to survive out in the multiverse, brought a solace that Ford knew Fiddleford would never begin to comprehend, but it delighted him nonetheless.

“Hey, nerds, you two down here?” Stan’s voice bellowed from the top of the stairs. He was propping the vending machine open with one hand, the other holding the lantern close to his face, so Ford could see his eyes. “I’m about to go switch shifts with the kids, you’re not dead, right?”

Fiddleford called from the elevator, slowly pulling away from Ford to stand up, “We’re down here, Stanley!”

“Ugh, you two done being all ooey gooey down here?” Stan said, sarcasm dripping from his voice, eyeing the love-struck look on Ford’s face as the two nerds separated. “This goddamn holiday is about _pure evil_ , remember?” He said, walking down the stairs.

Ford shrunk back, running his hand through his hair before pushing himself to his feet. “Stan? We weren’t… I mean, this isn’t… I _didn’t..._ I’m not hiding down here just to spend time with Fiddleford, I… I mean, I _like_ spending time with Fiddleford, but that’s not why... I’m sorry I didn’t come to the party, I know it was important to you. I was _about_ to, but--”

“Ford, relax, I don’t care what you guys were doing down here. I just wanted to make sure you two were feeling okay. You _are_ okay, right?” Stan said.

“Today was awful, but I… I’m doing better than I was this morning.” Ford said, quietly.

“Are you sure, Ford? You look a little shaky… Listen, I’m gonna go change ticket shifts with the kids, you can stay down here as long as you want, alright?” Stan said, wrapping an arm around Ford’s shoulders. “You’re just having a bad day, I understand. These things are gonna happen, even with the meds. I’m not mad. Do what you gotta do to feel better, and get through it, you know?”

Ford felt a pang of guilt in his chest, it seemed that Stan was always the one comforting him and not the other way around, no matter the situation. Ford’s mind flooded with a sickening mix of emotion, the guilt collided with the love in his heart, causing an overall sensation of panic to rise and bubble in his throat once more. He felt like he was walking a tightrope, and a wrong step in either direction could send the most important relationships he had up in smoke. “I think I’ll stay down here a while longer.” He said, quietly, freeing himself from Stan’s grip. “...I just need to sit down, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” He fought to hide his shaking hands, to hide the confusion and panic clouding in his brain before he realized it was making it harder to think, a realization that would only cause him to panic more. No matter what happened to him, no matter what was going on in his head, he _couldn’t_ let it hurt Stan and Fiddleford. Not again. _Focus on your intellect. You’re better than this, you have to be._ Ford leaned against the wall of the elevator doors, not bothering to go inside, and sat down on the floor, trying to act as calm as he possibly could.

“Ford…? If you need me to leave you alone you can just say so.” Stan said, picking up on his brother’s fraying nerves.

“I can step out fer a bit if you need me to, darling.” Fiddleford added.

Ford shook his head. “I’m fine, Stan. Really.” Ford said, taking a deep breath. “Go and give the kids a break, I’m sure they want to get to the party.”

“Alright. Let me know if you need somethin’.” Stan said, sparing his brother a final glance before turning back and heading up the stairs.

Once the vending machine was safely shut, with the lantern at the top of the steps on the other side, Stan glanced around the gift shop, making sure no one had seen him. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found nothing out of the ordinary. Just some furniture, and what Stan could only assume was the leftovers of a plate of food someone, likely Fiddleford or Wendy, had brought to Ford. He couldn’t help but notice an untouched and lukewarm glass of fruit punch next to the plate. “Hm, don’t mind if I do.” He said to himself, knowing full well that if Ford hadn’t drank it by now it wouldn’t be drank at all.

Mabel sat on the old couch (covered in a Halloween patterned sheet to hide the stains) with Pacifica, swinging her legs while she listened attentively to her story about last year’s Christmas vacation to the Bahamas. Pacifica’s life seemed so exotic, like a fantasy, and Mabel genuinely enjoyed hearing Pacifica talk about herself.

“And then, Mom had the cabana boy fired, but I left him a tip with my allowance before he was dismissed. Now everyone at that resort knows never to serve my mother anything that isn't top shelf liquor.” Pacifica sighed as she ended her story, just realizing that she had been talking for the past ten minutes.

“Woah, your mom really _is_ a diva! That sounded like a fun vacation anyways. I’ve never been to the beach before.”

“Wait, really? You lived in California!” Pacifica gaped. “San Francisco is _on the coastline_!”

“Well, my Dad has-- had, this fear of the ocean. We would always go to big water parks or pools, sometimes lakes, but my dad thought the ocean was just too scary. Like, supernatural stuff scary.”

“...So he sent you to Gravity Falls?”

Mabel snorted and punched Pacifica in the arm lightly, laughing a little too hard. “HA! Good one! I think it was more like, giant sharks and squids and stuff... He didn’t really believe in the supernatural until we told him about it. I guess he wasn’t scared so much as he had a healthy respect for stuff that had more teeth than him.” She gave Pacifica a soft, sad smile. “He always used to say ‘I’m not going into the ocean, I’m not giving what’s in there a reason to think I’m _food_ , I’m not messing with that.’ He always wanted us to go on an adventure, though. He had a bunch of old copies of old timey adventure stories about the ocean and stuff. I think he liked them, even if he didn’t like the sea.”

“Do you still miss him?” Pacifica asked quietly. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want… You just sound sad sometimes when people bring it up.”

Mabel’s heart stopped, nobody had really asked her how she felt since Shiva back in September. She always changed the subject quickly, asked others how _they_ felt. “I… um… Yeah. I do. And my mom too. I like living here, Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford are really nice, but sometimes I wish Mom and Dad were here instead. I try to remember happy stuff, stuff that makes me miss them, but still makes me smile, you know?”

“Yeah. That’s super strong of you, Mabel. You seem so put together at school, and happy all the time, sometimes I worry that you get sad when nobody’s looking. I don’t like to let people know when I’m sad either.” Pacifica took off her long evening gloves and held onto them tightly, looking down at her lap as she spoke.

“Do you really worry about me?” Mabel placed her hand on Pacifica’s shoulder. “You don’t have to. I’m okay. I get sad sometimes, but I have you, and the girls, Dipper, and my grunkles, so I know I won’t be sad for very long. You’re a really good friend.” Mabel smiled softly.

Pacifica froze, speechless. Of all the things she’d ever expected Mabel Pines to call her, a good friend wasn’t one of them. “Do you mean that? I’m not really…” She fidgeted with the evening glove in her hand. “I was _awful_ to you over the summer…”

 “Yeah, you were.” Mabel chuckled. “But you aren’t anymore. You stand up for me and Dipper all the time at school. That means a lot to us, you know… You make people think you’re mean and cold and scary, but on the inside, you’re a big sweetie.” She said, grinning. “My grunkles used to fight all the time. I don’t think they knew that I knew, but Grunkle Ford was gonna kick Stan out of the house at the end of summer. I’m not sure what made him change his mind, but now they just kinda do awkward old man hugs constantly.”

“Oh, wow… Well, it feels good to have a friend. I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend quite like you, Mabel. Nobody’s ever called me sweet before.” She said, blushing a little bit. “Well… No one’s ever called me sweet and meant it.”

“Nobody knows you like I do, I guess.” Mabel placed her hand over Pacifica’s and gently squeezed it. “I’m glad you’re my friend… I really like you, Pacifica.”

Pacifica blushed and took a deep breath, lacing her fingers with Mabel’s and looking away. “Me too. I like you too.” Candy and Grenda’s excited giggles could be heard from across the room where they hid behind a tall Halloween decoration in the corner. Dipper stood in front of the obvious hiding place and couldn’t help but smile as he sipped his punch, more than happy that Mabel had found someone, and that it seemed like things could work out between them.

Mabel scooted closer to Pacifica, their shoulders touching, and sweetly squeezed her hand again. “Would you wanna… maybe… go on a date with me sometime?”

Pacifica’s face turned bright red. “S-sure. But we have to keep this secret… okay? I don’t think my parents would like it if they found out I was dating a lower-middle-class _girl_ …”

“Oh! Um… Okay. That’s okay. Can I tell my family? I know they like you and they won’t tell your parents, I promise.” Mabel looked at Pacifica, pleading.

“Are… Are you sure? They won’t get mad at you or anything?”

“Pacifica, my uncles are all gay. All of them. The gayest. Grunkle Ford is dating Old Man McGucket, and Grunkle Stan told me he was bi when we had the puberty talk. It’s fine, I promise”

“Wow… Well… Yeah, you can tell them. But nobody at school can know. My parents know everyone, they’ll find out, and they’ll get really mad, they might send me away, they might send _you_ away…” Pacifica started to ramble, thinking of all the awful things her parents could come up with to punish her.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’ll always be here for you, we won’t let stuff like that happen.” Mabel leaned her head on Pacifica’s shoulder. “And you don’t have to worry about me. Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford would probably kill a man before they let anything happen to me. I’m not even joking, I’m one million percent certain that they would do that if it came to it. N-Not that they’d kill your parents or anything!” She said, scratching the back of her head. “So… where would you wanna go? Grunkle Stan could drop us off at the movies… We could go for a romantic dinner at Hoo Ha Owl’s? I could even make us a picnic or something. Grunkle Ford and I could make you a pie!”

“That would be really nice. I think I’ll let you pick, you have all of the ideas.” Pacifica managed a smile. “Anything would be nice, if I get to be with you.” She said, taking Mabel’s hand in hers.

Stan trudged around the outside of the house, towards the front entrance where the ticket booth was, glass of bright red punch in hand. “Alright, you two knuckleheads. Time for a break, go join the party.” He said, walking up to the booth where Dipper and Mabel appeared to be sitting, taking cash from a long line of customers. “You two alright? You look a little more… desaturated than usual.” He said, a smirk on his face.

“It’s probably just the lighting!” Tyrone Jr said, handing a customer their change.

“Yeah, it’s definitely not because we’re really somewhere else, we’re right here! Dipper and Mabel, mystery twins!” Mabel 2.0 said, trying to hide the nervousness in her voice.

“Well, I’m here to take over for you gremlins, you can go back to the party if you want.” Stan said, taking a small sip of the punch.

“Yeah, we should probably do that! We need more blood for our costumes anyways. Thanks Grunkle Stan!” Mabel 2.0 said, forcing a grin.

“Ah, here, lemme help you two out. This punch has been sitting out in the gift shop for who knows how long anyways.” Stan chuckled. “Alright, gremlins hold still.” Stan said, before splashing the kids with the old punch.

“No, no, _wait_!” Tyrone Jr tried to protest, but it was too late.

“Well, see ya.” Mabel 2.0 shrugged, her features already beginning to distort and warp.

Horror twisted itself onto Stan’s face, and he felt like his heart was going to leap out of his chest as the two kids in front of him, _his kids_ , started _melting_. He reached out and grabbed Dipper’s shoulders, trying to ignore the way Dipper’s skin oozed between his grubby fingers. “Kid? Kid! What’s happening, what do I do? Oh god, what’s wrong?!”

“Eh, this kinda thing just happens sometimes.” Tyrone Jr gurgled, melting into a puddle, slipping through Stan’s fingers.

“Dipper? Dipper?!” Stan began to shake, and he felt tears forming in his eyes. Mabel put a hand on his shoulder, making a sickening _splosh_ as she did so.

“It’s alright, Grunkle Stan. This is normal. We’re...” Mabel 2.0’s voice sputtered out, fading along with the rest of her as she turned into nothing but goop midway through her sentence.

After a short silence, the crowd of people outside cheered, throwing money like confetti “Woah! What a cool spooky trick! Way to go Mr. Mystery! How’d you do it?”

Stan fell to his knees, surrounded by the puddle the kids had left behind, _some of it was on his costume oh… oh god he’d… he’d killed them somehow, oh god._ “...Just give me a second to clean this up…” His voice was quiet, barely a whisper against the roar of the cheering crowd. With shaking hands and a quivering lip, he scooped up _what’s left of the kids, my kids, I killed them oh god, oh god oh god, I can’t do this again, oh god_ into the now empty punch cup, _it’s not big enough to hold all of ‘em, oh god it wasn’t supposed to be like this, I wasn’t supposed to outlive them, I killed them oh god_ , and took off running around to the other side of the house, towards the gift shop entrance, nearly kicking down the door. The vending machine couldn’t open fast enough, _come on, Stan, get to Ford, he’ll know what to do, he’ll know what happened, you’re not smart enough to fix this on your own,_ but finally the door was open, and Stan barreled down the stairs, causing Ford to jump.

“Stan? What’s going on, what happened?” Ford asked. He’d calmed down from his panic attack earlier, but he could feel in his gut that something was very, _very_ wrong for Stan to come down here so distraught. Stan was covered in what seemed like… wet paper?

“Are you alright?” Fiddleford asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“ _Ford_ , I-I didn’t mean it, I _swear_ , oh god they’re… The k-kids, they’re--” Stan’s breath hitched, and the tears forming in his eyes spilled over in full force as he thrust the cup towards Stanford. “I-I didn’t _know,_ and now they’re… Oh god it’s all my fault, they’re… they’re _gone_ , Ford, I need y-you’re help to get them _back_ I can’t lose them like this!”

Ford gingerly took the cup from Stan, raising an eyebrow, and inspected the contents. Slowly, he reached into the cup and felt the consistency of the goop between his fingers. “...Stan, somewhere in my office there used to be a copy machine. Should have been broken by the time you showed up, did you happen to throw it out?” He asked, his voice quiet.

“Ford what the _hell_ does that have to do with anything?!” Stan screamed, grabbing Ford’s shoulders. “I _melted_ our niece and nephew, I _killed_ our kids!”

“Please, just answer the question.” Ford said, concern in his eyes. “It’s important.”

“Of course I kept the damn thing, copy machines are expensive, an’ I fixed it up. What the fuck does it matter?!”

“Stan… this is wet paper.” Ford said, setting down the cup and wrapping his arms around Stan. “That copy machine is an old invention of mine, it makes clones out of paper. The kids probably found out about it, wanted to shirk their responsibilities and copied themselves. I’m sure they’re fine, Stan.” Ford said, hugging Stan close. “Hey, Fiddleford… can you... can you step outside and see if you can track them down for me?”

“Of course!” Fiddleford hopped up from his spot and scurried out of the room, sensing the urgency in Ford’s voice.

“Stan, come here, it’s okay, I promise.” Ford said, gently guiding his brother to a seat on the steps. “Just tell me what happened.”

“I… I-I spilled punch on em, yeah? C-cause they wanted some m-more fake blood for their costumes, and-- they just started melting. It was all my fault, I fucked up, Ford. I-I fucked up _again_ , and--” Stan stammered, tears still streaming down his face. “I-I don’t know what I’d _do_ if they ever got hurt cause of _me_ …”

“Stan, you didn’t fuck up…” Ford said, his voice as calming as possible. “The paper clones dissolve in liquid, it’s not… it’s not your fault. The real Dipper and Mabel are just fine.” Ford stiffened as Stan wrapped his arms around Ford’s torso, clutching at the back of his coat.

“...It was like the fucking _portal_ all over again, I couldn’t _save them_ , I felt so _useless_ and it was all my fault…” Stan whimpered, gasping for breath.

Ford’s face fell, his heart breaking at the mention of the portal, a reminder of what it’d done to both of them. He tightened his grip on Stanley, gently rubbing his back. “...Stan, you’re not useless… And it wouldn’t have been your fault.” He whispered.

“...Ford?” Stan asked, wiping away the tears in his eyes with one hand. “Are you gonna leave me behind again? Cause… Cause I screwed up with the kids, and you’ve got Fiddleford now anyways, and you don’t really need me... I-I try to make me stayin’ here worth your while, I really do, I just...”

“No, I’m not going to leave you.” Ford said, conviction evident in his voice. “After all this time, you never gave up on me, I won’t _ever_ give up on you.”

Stan didn’t say anything, he didn’t think he _could_ say anything at that point, he simply hugged Ford tighter.

Fiddleford rushed in, a twin on either side of him, and called down the stairs behind the vending machine, “They’re here, Stan, I found Dipper and Mabel! They’re alright!”

Stan jumped up, rushing up the stairs and scooping up the twins in a bear hug. “Oh god I thought I’d killed you, I’m so sorry, where the heck were you?!”

“Kids, you two are in _very_ big trouble!” Ford said, his arms crossed. “You nearly gave Stan a heart attack with that little stunt.”

“It was my idea.” Mabel hung her head, her arms behind her back. “Pacifica showed up and I wanted to go to the party with her, so I made Dipper copy us.”

“You need to _tell us_ before you go and do things like that, Mabel.” Ford said. “He thought he’d _killed you_ , he watched your clones _melt_!”

“Ford, it’s okay. Really, I’m fine.” Stan said. “Don’t get mad at the kids…”

Dipper put a hand on Mabel’s shoulder, he could feel the guilt clouding around her. “We should have stayed where we were supposed to. We’re sorry we scared you, Grunkle Stan.”

“Hey, I’m just glad you’re alright.” Stan said. “Those clones were, uh, pretty realistic…”

“They’re pretty gross when they melt, huh?” Dipper chuckled a little, “You really get used to them as people, you forget that they’re only paper.”

“Why do you think I destroyed the machine in the first place?” Ford deadpanned.

“Maybe I should get back to the party, though. Just to check on everything. Lord knows Wendy’s not gonna help with the crowd.” Stan said.

“...I’ll join you in a second, Stanley.” Ford said, quietly, placing a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “You two kids will work the ticket booth the rest of the night, no more clones, no more party.”

Dipper and Mabel both let out a sigh. “Alright, I guess that’s fair.” Mabel said. “But Pacifica is going to be all alone at the party now!”

“Kid, she’s a social butterfly, she’ll be fine.” Stan said. “Let’s go before people start sneaking in. Or worse, takin’ money from the register.” Stan shuddered.

Mabel slouched and slumped off to the ticket booth with Dipper, guilty not only for hurting Grunkle Stan, but for abandoning Pacifica inside.

“Hey, Mabel… can you come here for a second?” Ford called.

Mabel turned and approached Ford, wringing her hands. “Yeah?”

“Are you alright?” He asked. “You seem worried about Pacifica, is there something I should know?”

Mabel fidgeted with the hem of her dress, silent for a while, before asking quietly, “Grunkle Ford? What does love feel like?”

“...What?”

“What does love feel like?” Mabel asked a little louder. “I… I think I love someone.”

“Oh… _oh._ ” Ford leaned against the wall, mulling over the sensation. “I think… it feels different for everyone, and I think it can change over time…” He said. “I don't want to disappoint you, but… you have to understand, it's been a very long time since I let myself love anything. A long time ago, love felt a lot like… friendship, I suppose. But now it feels… different, somehow.”

“Does it feel like...burning? Like your heart is burning, but in a good way, and you want the other person to be really happy and you wanna be the one to make them happy?” Mabel clutched at her chest.

Ford paused, unsure of what to say. “That’s one aspect of it, for me at least. And I can see how it’d feel that way for you… But for me, it’s more like… _hope_. Like, maybe everything will be alright one day, even if it seems dangerous right now.”

Mabel smiled softly and smoothed out her dress. “I think that sounds nice...Grunkle Ford, if I tell you something, would you keep it a secret? Within the family?”

“Of course, Mabel.”

“I’m going to take Pacifica on a date… I think she’s going to be my girlfriend.” Mabel couldn’t help but smile as the word ‘girlfriend’ escaped her mouth.

“That’s wonderful, Mabel. I’m happy for you.” Ford said, giving Mabel a soft smile. “I won’t tell a soul until you give the okay, and… if you ever need my help, about _anything_ , call me.”

“She’s scared of her parents finding out. But I think it’ll all work out okay.” Mabel wrapped her tiny arms around Ford, giving him a quick hug. “Thanks, Grunkle Ford.”

“Anytime, Mabel. Now go get to work, you’re still in trouble, remember?” Ford said, chuckling a bit and ruffling her hair. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go catch up with Stan. Oh, crud, wait a second. I almost forgot… Mabel, I need you to tell Dipper to guard the vending machine. It’s important.”

“Well, wait. Can’t I just guard the vending machine?” Mabel asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Um… Well… It’s not that I don’t think you _can_ guard the vending machine, I think you’re fully capable of doing so… I would just feel more comfortable if it was Dipper, I… It’s hard to explain.” Ford sighed. “If there was an emergency in the lab, Dipper knows his way around down there, he’d be able to take care of it.” Ford said. “There’s some dangerous stuff down there, things I suppose I’ll have to tell you about one day, but for right now, please, can you just tell your brother to guard the lab?”

“...Okay, Grunkle Ford.”

Back inside, Stan was beginning to clean empty dishes from the snack table, making sure the place wasn’t a total wreck by the time the party ended. Fiddleford stood in a corner, keeping an eye out in case Tate was still around, but otherwise enjoying what was left of the party. Stanford found them through the crowd with ease, pushing his way through the hustle and bustle of the party, doing his best to ignore the states of the townsfolk who had somehow managed to sidestep any gossip about Stan's secret twin back from the dead.

“...So, this is what Halloween parties are like these days?” Ford said, quietly, helping Stan with clearing the refreshments table.

“Well, _my_ Halloween parties, that is. I’m probably the oldest and best party animal in this town. Even those snooty Northwests can’t throw a better party than me!” Stan grinned, nudging Ford’s arm.

Ford chuckled, tossing the plates into a nearby trashcan and leaning against the wall. “Pushing sixty and still a party animal, huh?” He said.

“You can take the animal out of the party, but you can’t take the party out of the animal!” Stanley exclaimed, striking a pose and immediately wincing at the pain in his feet. “These damn shoes…”

“Oh, right, I nearly forgot. Why are you wearing my shoes?” Ford asked. “I haven’t even gotten a chance to break them in yet, and they don’t exactly match the reanimated corpse look.”

“I lost a bet with your scrawny hillbilly boyfriend.” Stan deadpanned, shifting his weight onto one foot to give the other foot a break.

“Wait… what?” Ford stared at Fiddleford. “You actually beat him in a bet?” He turned back to Stanley. “Alright, what did you do? You rolled a perfect 38 against the Impossibeast in Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons, how on earth did you lose _anything_ to Fiddleford? I know he’s good, but he’s not good enough to beat a world class gambler.”

“Sometimes dumb luck runs out.” Fiddleford grinned and sipped his glass of punch. “I think he tried goin’ for one round without cheatin’.”

“Nah, that time, I was cheating.” Stan said. “It was _poker_ , everyone cheats at poker.”

“For once I have to agree with Stan on that.” Ford said, nodding. “It’s the New Jersey way.”

“I don’t!” Fiddleford huffed

“That’s why you owe me two thousand dollars and all of your socks.” Stan elbowed Fiddleford’s arm.

“Stan, you didn’t _really_ put him in a two thousand dollar debt, did you?” Ford said, frowning.

“Well, it’s why _you_ still have to shove your face in a pie an’ tell Stanford about 3D printers.” Fiddleford said.

“3D _what_ now?”

“Okay, so it’s like a regular printer, except you can pretty much put any material in it and it prints out shit. Like… say you wanted a new hat or something. Just put in the stuff you need to make the hat with and it’ll do it for ya.” Stan explained. “I’d use it for pizza, personally.”

“It’s bein’ used mostly for makin’ little knick-knacks commercially, and they’re usin’ it in biomedical engineering.” Fiddleford chimed in, unable to hold back his interest in the subject.

“Did you say _biomedical engineering?_ I think I’ve used something similar to reconstruct a portion of my lungs once…” Ford mused. “Actually… If I can just get some answers about the afterlife out of a ghost or two, I _might_ have just figured out how to bring Sherman and Alexandria back.” He said, realization dawning, a wide grin spreading across his face.

“Well… dear, all they’re really usin’ right now are plastic materials… It’s still a work in progress, but I’d like to hear your ideas, maybe I could help you draw up a design.” Fiddleford patted Ford’s shoulder.

“...Hm, I can probably reconstruct this 3D printer to function like an apolloroid, but I’d need parts, and the only place I can get them is the UFO…” The wheels in Ford’s brain were turning a mile a minute. “The entrances will likely freeze shut soon, unless we get a pickaxe we might have to put off building a prototype until the spring… Or maybe we can use the scrapped portal parts, though that might cause some latent instability in the fabric of reality… And without their consciousnesses the whole plan is essentially useless, so I might have to...”

“Uh, Stanford, you might want to speak up for those of us who have hearing aids.” Stan deadpanned.

“Oh, sorry…” Ford snapped up from his train of thought. “My plan is essentially to either locate their ghosts or facilitate their formation in any way that I can, then have them each possess a body I plan on constructing with this… 3D printer technology. I might have to print out all the organs and stitch them together one by one, but it’ll all be worth it if this works.”

“Maybe we should plan this out some other time, when there _isn’t_ a party going on?” Stan crossed his arms. “I know you’ve got the whole Dr. Frankenstein thing going on here, but seriously… You’re talking about necromancy in a town that punches the supernatural in the face on a regular basis.”

“And _that’s_ why I never went into town…” Ford said, leaning against the wall.

“Ford unless you’re not telling us something, you’re not a ghost or a werewolf or whatever.” Stan huffed.

“He used to send me out for all of the errands, he really didn’t leave the house too often, unless it was to go out into the woods.” Fiddleford said softly, recalling a few memories of begging Ford to go into town with him.

Stan leaned against the wall, next to Ford. “That’s nothing, when we were kids he used to think he’d hatched from an egg from outer space, cause people wouldn’t stop spreadin’ rumors about how he was a communist experiment trying to kill democracy and nuke us all. He grew outta thinking crap like that, though.”

“Of course, Stan. We shared a womb, there’s no denying that.” Ford said, matter of factly. “Though it wouldn’t be wise to rule out the possibility that a dimensional tear from the dimension of weirdness that’s leaking into our own was what originally split our zygote, giving me _these_ in the process.” Ford said, holding up his hand. “I call it the Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness. There’s an entire dimension leaking into ours from _somewhere_ and that’s why we get anomalies like ghosts, and werewolves, and my fingers-- Stan, are you paying attention?”

Stan jumped a little, having started to doze off, and fidgeted with his hearing aid “Huh? Yeah, weird junk, monsters… Something about dementia?”

Fiddleford stifled a laugh. “ _Dimensions_ , Stanley. He was talkin’ about that weirdness theory of his.”

“Oh, yeah, you wrote about that in your spooky journals.” Stan huffed. “You know, if you ask me, you probably just had some extra stem cells or whatever that decided they really wanted to be a finger. It’s _genetics,_ it’s not that complicated paranormal sci-fi bullshit.”

“If you’d read my journals you’d know that my theory was sound, I was one _step_ away from blowing that case wide open--”

“Boys, there’s no reason to argue.” Fiddleford gave the both of them a little pat on their backs. “You might be drivin’ people away with your bickerin’, this place is beginning to clear out mighty quick.”

Pacifica was one of the last to escape the Shack, coughing up a few bucks to help other’s exit fees if they were a little short, more than happy to flaunt her wealth. Mabel once again tried to refuse her money, but Pacifica paid anyways, and shivered in the sudden chill. “I think my limo is pulling up, so… text me about the date thing.” She muttered as she pulled her shawl tight around her arms.

Mabel stood to throw an arm over Pacifica’s shoulders, and walked her to the end of the driveway, where the limo’s headlights creeped up. “I will. I’m really happy you came tonight. Did you have fun?”

“Surprisingly, yeah, I did. Thanks. It was really nice hanging out with you… Maybe I can get my parents to invite you to one of their parties sometime.” Pacifica leaned into Mabel’s embrace, thankful for her warmth.

“That could be fun! I could make another fancy gown like I did for your summer gala! Maybe with less feathers, I’m feeling more of a sequin phase coming on.” Mabel mused, walking Pacifica so the limo as slowly as she possibly could.

Pacifica stopped when she caught her reflection in the limo’s tinted window, Mabel’s arm around her, the blush creeping across both of their faces. It almost made Pacifica jump. “Well, here’s my ride, I should go. Before my parents start to wonder why I’m out this late…”

“Oh! Yeah, right.” Mabel threw her arms around Pacifica, a little awkwardly but with as much sweetness as she could muster, “Bwomp! Uh… Yeah, I’ll see you at school? Monday?”

“Monday.” Pacifica repeated, clinging to Mabel for longer than she wanted to allow herself. “Goodbye.” She leapt back when her chauffeur came around to open the door and gave Mabel a small wave as she disappeared inside the limousine.

Mabel stood in the empty driveway until the limo completely vanished into the chilly November evening, thoughts of holding Pacifica’s hand keeping her plenty warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading! If you like it be sure to let us know and you can comment below if you have any questions about the fic! The next chapter will be up soon! we've also officially changed our tumblr urls so you may ask questions there as well!  
> (the-stan-twin.tumblr.com and the-ford-twin.tumblr.com)


	17. First Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10-9-12-12 13-3-7-21-3-11-5-20 6-9-14-1-12-9-19-20 9-14 20-8-5 6-9-5-12-4 1-14-4 19-20-18-5-1-13 20-15-20-1-12 15-21-20-4-15-15-18-19-13-1-14 3-8-1-12-12-5-14-7-5

Ford was the first to rise Monday morning.

He slipped through the house, quietly, like a phantom, shivering against the chill clinging to the old wooden floorboards and pulling his coat closer around him as he made his way to the kitchen. The house was still, the only light that filtered in through the window was a cold, gray one that signaled the first breaths of a winter Ford hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

It took him a few moments to notice them. Tiny flakes of snow drifted down from the sky, pale white and practically sparkling in what morning sun could be seen through the thick, fluffy clouds that hung low over Gravity Falls. Ford felt his breath catch in his chest; the last time he’d seen snow in this dimension, he’d been peering through the living room window, clutching a crossbow for dear life as his estranged brother shuffled through a great and terrible blizzard, snow piling on his shoulders. But throughout his travels in the multiverse, he’d encountered snow in several dimensions similar to his own, he’d even made some happier memories in another universe known simply as Dimension 52. Ford let out a contented sigh, a smile spreading across his face as he spun on his heel, quietly tiptoeing upstairs, into Dipper and Mabel’s room.

Mabel and Dipper slept soundly in their beds, unaware of the snow outside, bundled up tightly in piles of blankets to keep warm in the chilly attic. Ford slipped over to Dipper’s bedside, giving him a gentle shake.

“Psst… Dipper, wake up… I have to show you something.” He whispered, not wanting to startle the kids. When he felt Dipper stir, he moved to Mabel’s bed, gently shaking her awake. “Come on, kids, it’s important.”

“Ugh… Grunkle Ford, it’s barely six o’clock in the morning, it’s not time for school yet…” Mabel mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

“I know. You’re not going to school today.” Ford said, a grin on his face. “We’ll just say you’re sick or something, just… come look out the window for a second, alright?”

Dipper groaned as he sat up, pulling his blanket around his shoulders like a cape and slowly shuffling over to the window alongside Mabel. Ford lifted them up so they could get a better look outside, watching their faces for the moment what was happening outside clicked in their brains, hoping that Dipper and Mabel would be excited about the development.

Ford’s heart fluttered when he heard the kids gasp in unison, wide sleepy smiles on their faces. “Snow!” They both cheered.

“Go put on some boots, pants, and your jackets. I’ll see if I can find some gloves for you. You two can take the day off from school, spend the whole day enjoying the snow if you want.” Ford said, a wide, excited smile on his face.

“Really, Grunkle Ford?” Mabel grinned up at Ford, bouncing with excitement.

“Of course, Mabel.” Ford said. “I haven’t experienced snow in a long time, I’d be more than happy to share it with you and Dipper.” He added, though truth be told it was more than that. Actually being _familiar_ with something from his home dimension that the kids had never experienced before made him feel… a little more at home, a little less like an outsider.

Mabel rushed over to the closet, pulling on pants and a coat over her jammies, while Dipper did the same. She wrapped herself up in a scarf she had made, and made sure Dipper was wearing one as well, before they raced downstairs faster than Ford could blink. Ford chuckled a bit, walking down the stairs and leaning out the door frame, watching the kids run around outside.

“I’ll be out to join you in a bit, first I’m going to make us all hot cocoa.” He called.

“Just be sure to follow the instructions, Grunkle Ford!” Dipper called, before forming a snowball and launching it at Mabel.

Ford nodded, “You two be careful out there, come inside if it gets too cold!” He said, before closing the door and walking into the kitchen. Something about the way Dipper and Mabel’s voices filtered through the walls of the house, set against the snowfall outside, gave Ford a familiar, nostalgic feeling. Not necessarily bad, not this time at least, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on _why_ it was happening. He shrugged off the feeling, making his way into the kitchen and searching for the ingredients he’d need for cocoa. He was surprised to see a box with pre-made mix in tiny packets, apparently with marshmallows and all, and enough servings for the entire family. Turning the box over and reading the instructions, Ford set to making five cups of cocoa, absentmindedly staring out the window from time to time, taking in the calming winter scenery, flying snowballs and gently falling snowflakes. The cocoa wouldn’t be ready for another few minutes, at least, and Ford’s heart was beginning to flood with a different kind of nostalgia than before. A better kind, one that reminded him of winters at Glass Shard Beach, with a mere six inches of snow a year as opposed to the several feet Gravity Falls received, but _Stan_ had been there, and memories of winter nights spent adventuring in the snow played through Ford’s mind.

 _Perhaps I should wake Stan up as well, he might enjoy the snow as much as the kids._ Ford thought to himself as he stirred the cocoa in all of the mugs. _He’ll definitely want some cocoa, this house is freezing. Maybe I can convince him to turn up the thermostat. I’m… I’m actually surprised he hasn’t woken up already. It’s nearly seven o’clock, he usually wakes the kids up around this time…_ Ford thought to himself, setting four mugs of cocoa on the table and grabbing one. He made his way to the front door, calling the kids inside to warm up, before walking to the back of the house, where Stan’s room was, mug of cocoa in hand.

Stan had hit the snooze button twice already that morning, before reluctantly sitting up in bed, clutching his shoulder. _Come on, Stan. You can do this. It’s just another day, another random body pain, everything’s going to be fine_. The tiny pep talks didn’t do much to help, but it was something, at least. He nearly jumped when he heard his bedroom door creak open, turning around to see Ford’s head poking through the doorway. _Oh god, something must be wrong, he only comes in here when something’s wrong. Is something attacking? Does he **think** something’s attacking? Is he having a panic attack or… oh god is he going to kick me out again?_

“Stan? Are you awake?” Ford asked. “It’s… It’s snowing. I brought you some cocoa. It’s, uh, probably not very good, though.” He chuckled softly, before taking in his brother’s appearance. He wasn’t facing the door, he’d been looking out the window at the snow, clutching his shoulder, clutching his scar. _Oh no_. Ford slowly moved around to the other side of the bed, gently placing the warm mug in Stan’s hands. “...Are you alright? Does it… Does it hurt?” He asked, staring at the edges of the sigil poking out from beneath Stan’s shirt. “Stan… I’m so sorry about what happened…”

Stan flinched away from Ford, trying to cover his scar with his hand. “I’m fine. I’m just tryin’ to wake up.”

“Stan, you wake up earlier than me sometimes… If… If you’re in pain, I can go get you something from the medicine cabinet. I know what it’s like, I _understand_. You don’t have to try to hide it from me.” Ford said, swallowing a lump in his throat, heartbroken that he’d caused Stan’s injuries so long ago.

“I’m just having a rough morning, Ford, I get bad days sometimes, I’ll be fine.” Stan said with a wave of his hand, hoping he could get Ford to leave.

Ford paused, mulling over Stan’s words in his head, like the final piece of a puzzle he didn’t even know needed solving. Of course, why hadn’t he thought of it sooner... The way Stan always seemed to know exactly what to do with Ford’s PTSD and anxiety, his pleas to not try and get through it without help… Ford mentally kicked himself, he should have known. “Stan… if something’s wrong, you have to tell me. I’ll _understand_ … Please, you’ve done so much to help me, let me be the one to help _you_ for once.” He said, his voice quiet, slowly reaching an arm around Stan’s shoulders.

Stan huffed, but allowed himself to settle into Ford’s touch. “I dunno, Ford, it’d be too complicated, I’m still legally dead, you know.”

“Stan… why don’t we just start with that. I’ve… I’ve been meaning to ask, why not just fake _my_ death? Why’d…” Ford trailed off, heartbroken that Stan’s brain was putting him through something as awful as what was going on in his own skull. He had a feeling he already knew why Stan had faked his death, but he’d never hoped to be more wrong in his life.

“Ford, I was a homeless guy, disowned, nobody would miss me. A scientist with 12 PHDs and a fuck-ton of grant money? He would be missed.” Stan said. “And guess what? I wasn’t wrong…”

“Surely _someone_ at least offered their-- their condolences…” Ford’s voice was quiet, he had to bring a hand to his face to hide his pained expression from Stanley. He could already see where this was going, and it was going to break his heart. “During those ten years, you had to have made some friends… And _mom_ at least would have called, Shermie too…”

“The only piece of mail I ever got from family was that postcard from you. I made a couple pals here and there, but half of them landed me in jail, or worse.” Stan said. “People would ask too many questions if suddenly the child genius swimming in grant money got offed and left all his property to his deadbeat twin brother… So I offed the worthless deadbeat…” Stan’s voice cracked, and he shivered against the cold.

Ford’s heart lurched, decades buried fraternal instincts kicking into overdrive, and wrapped Stanley in a warm hug. “They’re assholes, every last one of them, if they never saw how _awful_ this dimension would be if it wasn’t for you…”

Stan stayed stiff, sniffling, trying not to get too emotional. “After I faked my death… Shermie called me, wanted to know if you had heard the news. He couldn’t tell the difference between us, thank _god_. Mom and Dad didn’t put together a funeral for me, and I couldn’t bring myself to do it either. Mom died soon after that, and then Dad, and I didn’t go to their funerals either. I knew they wouldn’t have wanted me there. And just… for a long time it was just me, up here… alone… Until Sherman got married and he invited me to the wedding...”

Ford sighed, gently rubbing Stan’s back. “Being alone in this house has never been a good sign…” He said, quietly. “I’m so sorry, Stanley…”

Stan shivered and hugged Ford back, finally letting himself open up. “ _I’m_ sorry. You wouldn’t have fallen through that damn portal if it hadn’t been for me. I didn’t mean it-- Ford, I didn’t mean it when I said you could have your dumb mysteries, an’ I didn’t mean to shove you through the portal, I just… I just screwed up and I _keep_ screwing up and-- It just… gets so much worse in the winter…”

“Stanley… How about you get some rest today? We can relax, watch a movie with the kids, just take it easy. I… I went ahead and told them they could take the day off from school because of the snow…” Ford said, his voice as calming as he could make it. “And maybe later… when you’re ready… maybe we can talk about getting _you_ some help, too.” He said. “We all care about you, _I_ care about you, and I hate to see you going through something like this. I love you, Stan, and I just want you to be _okay_.”

“Yeah… sure.” Stan pulled away and got back under his covers, pulling the blankets up over his face. “...Sure.”

Ford slowly stood up, drawing the curtains closed so Stan could get some sleep. “You already do so much for the rest of us… We all appreciate it, more than you can imagine. Just take it easy today, alright?” He said, quietly.

Stanley muttered softly under the covers, “I love you too, Ford.”

Ford stopped dead in his tracks, one hand on the doorknob. Something had shifted in his heart in that moment, the churning waters it had been sinking in for decades were beginning to recede. Where before it had felt like he would drown at sea at any moment, now he felt solid boards of oak under his feet, a wind in his sails he hadn’t felt in quite some time. Though the ocean waves still tore against his heart, the ship that had rescued it was more than prepared to defend itself against the cold and unforgiving sea. This… This was what being loved felt like, Ford realized with a start.

“Get some rest, Stanley. Don't… don't forget the cocoa if you need to warm up.” He said softly, giving Stan a warm smile before leaving the room, his resolve tightening. _He won't feel like this forever, he'll feel better soon, I swear it._

Ford bumped into Fiddleford in the hall, almost knocking Fiddleford back a few feet. “Oh! Sorry, Stanford! Did you see all of that snow fallin’ out there?” Fiddleford chuckled and used Ford to steady himself, placing his hands on Ford's waist. “You're lookin mighty pensive, dear, are you alright?”

“Stanley liked playing poker with you the other night… right?” Ford asked, tensing when Fiddleford's hands made their way to his hips.

“As far as I’m aware, yes. If you wanna beat him, you’ll probably have to cheat. What are you planning?” Fiddleford asked, patting Ford’s back gently while leading him out of the hallway and into the kitchen.

“I'm going to need that pack of cards, and if it's not too much trouble, I'd like your help preparing breakfast. Stan's… he's having a rough morning.” Ford said, quietly. “Fidds, I'm not… the best at social interaction, I really need your help on this.”

“Of course I’ll help, s’no trouble at all. I reckon I could make a breakfast in bed robit if you think that'd help. Give me half an hour for the breakfast...maybe another half hour for the robit.”

“I think he'd get a kick out of that.” Ford said with a chuckle. “I'll have to track down some movies he might like while you're doing that, or I could help with the robot.”

“I’ve got the robit handled, you go on and work on your plan to get Stanley feelin’ better.” Fiddleford rummaged through the fridge once they reached the kitchen, unsure if he should look for ingredients or robot parts first.

Dipper and Mabel sat at the table, still bundled up in their coats, carefully sipping their hot chocolate. “Did you say something about a movie, Great Uncle Ford? I can show you my DVD collection, and Stan has a box of VHS tapes somewhere in the living room.”

“We'll have to raid that for his favorites.” Ford said. “He's still into stop motion, right?”

“Not anymore.” Mabel piped up from her mug. “We don’t do stop motion anymore. It's black magic.”

“Most art forms are, Mabel. Most art forms are.” Ford said, taking a seat at the table. “Alright, kids. Stanley's… not feeling well. In the same way I wasn't feeling well at the party. I'm going to need your help to cheer him up, can I count on you to do that?”

“Of course! I can whip up a sweater for him in no time! And I can send Waddles to cuddle with him, Waddles is a master at cuddling sad people.” Mabel grinned, thinking about which color yarn she should break out for a ‘feel better sweater’.

“I can pull up the entire Ducktective series on my computer, and The Duchess Approves. But no one tell him that I know that he likes that movie, he'll kill me.” Dipper said.

“Are we all gonna have a movie marathon? I could make snack contraptions again, so we don't have to look away from the screen!” Mabel offered.

“That's an excellent idea.” Ford said. “I'm going to fill some buckets with liquid water before the pipes freeze, then I think I'll be spending most of the day with Stan, and helping out around the house.”

“We'll help out too! Thanks for letting us play hooky!” Mabel smiled and then she gasped. “I have to text Pacifica and tell her I'm skipping today!” Mabel hopped up from the table, leaving Ford, Dipper, and Fiddleford to their own devices.

“Alright, I think I should get to winterizing the Shack.” Ford said, glancing out the window at the flurries of snow. “It’s really starting to come down out there, could turn into a blizzard soon.” He said, standing up. “If that happens, don't panic. Being snowed in usually isn't too bad, and between Stan, Fiddleford and I we're more than prepared to handle a survival situation if it comes to that.”

“I remember the last blizzard we were stuck in, Stanford.” Fiddleford gave Ford a sly, knowing smile. “I think we’ll be just fine.”

Ford blushed, recalling the weeks they'd had to spend huddled together in the bunker, underneath about five feet of snow. “S-Still, we need liquid water, so I'll just… get on that.” He stammered, backing out of the kitchen to search for a few buckets.

Dipper followed Ford, pulling his coat around himself tight, “Grunkle Ford, can I help you?” he asked, sweetly. This past week, Ford had been so busy, Dipper began to miss his company.

“Of course, Dipper. But I'm afraid it won't be as exciting as exploring an alien spacecraft or infiltrating a haunted convenience store.” Ford said. “Though we might want to put some superglue over the barrier, these winter winds can get pretty rough.”

“I can go get Mabel’s crazy glue!” Dipper said. “That should hold up pretty well. It got Mabel stuck to the wall for ten hours over the summer, we had to cut out a piece of the wall. It's still stuck to the sweater she was wearing.” Dipper ran quickly up to the attic, feeling excited to help Ford, to spend more time with him.

“I'll be outside, just come on out when you're ready!” Ford called, grabbing a bucket from a hall closet and heading out the door.

Dipper rummaged through Mabel’s craft supplies for the super glue, and quickly dressed in proper clothes. He threw his coat and scarf back on and joined Ford back out on the porch, shivering and pulling his hat down tight.

“Alright, Dipper. I'll handle getting water and firewood for everyone, and you double seal the barrier. Careful with that superglue, now.”

“I can chop firewood for you!” Dipper said, wanting to impress Ford. “Grunkle Stan taught me over the summer.” He puffed out his chest, hands on his hips. “I think I’m pretty good at it.”

“Alright then,” Ford said, smiling and ruffling Dipper’s hair. “I'll get the water, and you can seal the barrier and get firewood.”

“You got it!” Dipper ran off with the glue after giving Ford a thumbs up, taking care of the most important job first.

Ford smiled, and set to work filling as many buckets of water as he could, as fast as he could. The snow was beginning to come down harder, he could still see through the flurries but the temperature was so cold, if he didn't act fast they might be stranded with no water in the house.

Dipper got to work with checking the barrier around the house, the shimmery unicorn hair looking out of place wrapped around the dingy old shack. Dipper placed generous globs of glue on all of the places they had glued before, making sure the seal would stay waterproof. He shivered, not from the cold, but from the knowledge of what could happen if Bill tried to attack again.

Once the barrier was double sealed, Dipper grabbed a large log from the porch, some debris left over from the portal opening in the summer that Stan had saved. Thankfully, the snow hadn’t gotten to it, and it was completely dry, perfect for firewood.

Ford looked up from the buckets of water when he heard snow crunching under tires, just in time to see Soos’ pickup truck ambling down the driveway, the bed filled to the brim with bags of firewood and five gallon jugs of water, sealant for the pipes, and a few snow chains. Soos hopped out of his truck, wearing shorts, a dark green parka and a beanie.

“Oh, hey Dr. Pines, dude.” Soos said, waving at Ford. “Is, uh… is Mr. Pines awake yet?”

“Soos… what's all this? What are you doing here, isn't… doesn't the Shack close down for the winter?”

“Yeah, but Soos never shuts down, dude.” Soos said, puffing out his chest and adjusting his beanie. “Stan, he… I'm not sure if you've noticed but Mr. Pines doesn't like winter much. He gets all sad and mopey. I know what that's like, so… I kinda help him out every year.”

“Soos…” Ford was practically speechless. It warmed his heart to know that Stan hadn't been entirely alone all those years, that he'd had Soos there with him every step of the way. “Soos, you really live up to your namesake, you know that?”

“Thanks, dude. Wow, looks like you’re gonna have a lot of water. They’re saying there’s gonna be a blizzard this afternoon.

“Well then it seems I made the right decision when I let the kids stay home today.” Ford said. He paused, letting out a sigh. “And you're right… Stan's having a rough morning. I… I really appreciate your help, Soos.”

“Yeah, Mr. Pines doesn’t like the winter too much, so I try to help him out when I can. Some people just don't like this time of year.” He shrugged.

“...It's my fault, the… the portal incident happened in the winter. February, 1982.” Ford leaned against the wall of the house. “I'd honestly hate winter too if it hadn't been for a handful of friends I'd managed to make on the other side.”

“That’s heavy dude… Have you tried hot chocolate? That always cheers me right up. I can go make you guys some.” Soos offered, not exactly sure how he could fix something that wasn’t physical.

“You know… I actually did.” Ford said. “I think… Sometimes you just need your twin, you know?” Ford said, staring out at the snowstorm, at the blanket of snow covering the woods.

“Not really, but I think you'd know better than me on that.” Soos shrugged and started grabbing jugs of water from the bed of his truck. “Let me know if you dudes need anything, I got things handled out here.”

“Hey, Soos!” Dipper called from the yard, where he had a couple good chunks of wood chopped up. “What's up? You spending the day with us?”

“I’m here to help out with snow stuff, but I’ll probably end up staying and hanging out if we get snowed in.” Soos said. “Looks like we'll have plenty of firewood if that happens, though. You really did a good job on that!”

“Really? I mean, Yeah, I did. Thanks.” Dipper said, puffing out his chest.

Soos chuckled and elbowed Dipper. “Keep it up and you might have to start helping me fix stuff around the Shack.”

“I wouldn’t dare take your job, Soos.” Dipper said. “Too much work for not enough pay. Besides, you're the best handyman there is!”

“Aw, thanks man. You’re the best Dipper there is.” Soos said, giving Dipper a warm smile.

“Alright, I think I'm going to go ahead and bring these inside.” Ford said, grabbing two buckets of water. “If you need any help, just holler, but right now I need to be there for Stan.” He gave Soos a curt nod, and turned to enter the house.

“Mabel, Fidds, I'm putting these buckets in the kitchen, _don't use them_ unless it's an emergency. This storm is supposed to turn into a blizzard here in a bit.” Ford called.

Mabel, Waddles and Fiddleford sat in the living room, Fiddleford hunched over a pile of scrap and junk metal, putting together some kind of contraption. Mabel lay on her stomach, using Waddles as a pillow, kicking her legs in the air as she looked through a box of VHS tapes. “Hey Grunkle Ford, you haven't seen Return of the Jedi yet, right?” She said.

“Uh, no… I haven't.” Ford said, kneeling down to inspect the VHS tape. “I didn't know Stan liked these movies.”

“Oh, I think he'll have a blast watching it with you.” Mabel said, beaming. “Grunkle Fidds is almost done with his breakfast robot, too. Operation Make Grunkle Stan Happy Again is almost underway!”

Fiddleford looked up from his robot, his tiny cracked glasses askew on his face, “It’s remote controlled, and it should wheel in a tray of breakfast for Stanley.”

“This won't be anything like the Gobblewonker you built over the summer, will it?” Mabel asked.

“Nah, this one doesn't have any offensive weapons and it ain’t waterproof. An’ before you ask, it won't be like the pterodactyltron or the fifty foot shamebot. This here feller is for breakfast and breakfast only.” Fiddleford said, putting the finishing touches on the robot. “Alright, fellers an’ lady fellers. Let’s load ‘er up!”

Mabel hopped up from her spot to run to the kitchen and check on breakfast, ready to assemble a big plate for Stan, pausing to grab a hand crafted note written in sparkly glitter glue to add to the plate. _Dear Grunkle Stan, Here’s some breakfast, you can stay in bed and relax today! It’s ok to feel sad sometimes. Even me and Dipper and Grunkle Fidds and Grunkle Ford get sad, and you always make us feel better. We’re all staying in and watching movies today, and we would love it if you wanted to join us! Looooooove, Mabel._ The letter was liberally decorated with all manner of stickers. Heart stickers, smiley faces, stars and balloons, even a few price stickers she’d taken from the gift shop, with little smiles doodled on the zeroes.

Fiddleford’s breakfast robot slowly rolled into the kitchen on a small deck of wheels taken from a toy car, holding up a pole that could move up and down with a tray attached to serve breakfast on. “Thisun’s just a prototype, the final product’ll look a lot nicer, probably be a little more stable to boot.” Fiddleford said, grinning.

“Wow, Fidds, this is very impressive!” Ford said, looking over Fiddleford’s shoulder at the remote in his hands, and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you. I… I really appreciate you doing this, and I’m sure Stan will too.”

Fiddleford gripped the remote control so he wouldn't drop it and sighed happily. “Shucks, it was no problem. I enjoyed makin’ it. Now, let’s get this breakfast to Stanley, an’ we can finish pickin’ out movies to watch an’ games to play.” He said, grinning as he sent the robot to do its work.

Mabel gently placed the tray of food on the robot, and Fiddleford maneuvered it down the hallway, with Ford following close behind to make sure the robot didn't run into anything. Ford knocked on Stan's door and called, “Room service!” Before running back down the hall to hide, hoping the plucky robot would cheer him up.

Stan shuffled to the bedroom door, bleary eyed and wrapped in an old robe to keep warm. He eyed the robot, grabbing the note Mabel had left and reading it.

“Your boyfriend is weird, Ford.” He grumbled, though a tiny smile spread across his face. He pointed at the robot. “I think I'll call you… Bart.” He picked up the tray off of Bart and took it back in his room, gently shutting the door on his way back in.

“Did you see that? He smiled!” Mabel said, peering into the hallway from behind Ford and Fiddleford. “Do you think my letter helped?”

Dipper, having finished his chores and come back inside, took the remote from Fiddleford and guided Bart back out of the hallway. “I think so, as long as you didn’t get any glitter in the carpet. Remember when you spilled a whole tube into the shag and Soos had to try to shampoo it out?”

“Yeah, he doesn’t appreciate glitter as much as I do.” She said.

“I don’t think anybody appreciates glitter like you do, Mabel.” Dipper said flatly.

Stan sighed, sitting down on the bed, breakfast tray in hand. The plate was overflowing with waffles drowning in syrup and sprinkles, bacon and eggs on the side, teetering on the edge of the plate. Mabel had poured him a tall glass of Mabel Juice, and Fiddleford had made him a mug of black coffee that he would actually be able to drink without his heart giving out.

Usually, winters served as a chilly, bitter reminder of the brother he'd lost, maybe even killed, of the family that had disowned and abandoned him. A reminder that he was alone in the world, that another year of _failure_ and loneliness had come and gone, without an inch of real progress on the portal. Soos has been there to help him get by, but until the past summer he hadn't actually known what the underlying problem was. Stan gingerly took a bite of the waffles, the rich syrup coating his throat far too much for his liking. This year was supposed to be different, this was the year he would finally get to be _happy._ He'd gotten Stanford back, he'd gotten Stanford to _like him_ again, he'd even been allowed to see Dipper and Mabel again… though ultimately not in the way he'd hoped. And… it _did_ take Sherman and Alexandria’s deaths to get Ford to talk to him… Even when Ford had decided to let him stay, it had been because of _Fiddleford._ Stan sighed, his heart sinking. _I guess I haven't really done anything after all… Do they even really want me around?_

Stan picked up Mabel's note again, studying all of the carefully placed stickers, the hearts dotting every i, the smiley faces drawn in every o. Fiddleford had invented a robot for the express purpose of making sure he got breakfast that morning, and Ford… Ford had orchestrated the whole thing. Stan slowly got up from his bed, coffee in hand, and shuffled to the door in his house slippers. “Alright, Stan. You can do this, they're _family._ They care about you.” He muttered to himself before leaving the room.

In the living room, Fiddleford was hooking up the VCR to the TV, trying to think of ways to make the picture on the ancient TV any better. Mabel was surrounded by VHS tapes and DVD’s, sorting out which ones Stan would like the best into a neat stack and tossing the rest aside. Dipper and Ford had gathered all of the sheets and pillows in the house, and began to construct a fort, trying to make it both extremely comfortable and structurally sound. To Stan’s shock, Ford had taped a piece of paper reading _Fort Stan_ to the top of the fort.

“What’s all this?” He asked, taking a long sip of coffee. “Uh… thanks for breakfast, by the way.”

“Grunkle Stan! Good morning!” Mabel said, looking up from her pile of movies and smiling wide. “We're having a snow day, we're gonna get cozy and watch movies. We even made a blanket fort!”

“Mabel has _insisted_ we watch Return of the Jedi.” Ford said. “She said you’d like it…”

“Return of the Jedi? That nerd-- I mean, _yes_. We should watch it. You’ve waited thirty years for that movie, Stanford.” Stan said, noting the sly gleam in Mabel’s eye. “I think watchin’ it with you would really cheer me up.”

“Oh wow… Well, if you insist.” Ford said, smiling and putting the finishing touches on the fort. “I didn’t think you liked those movies. And, uh… we could keep warm in the fort. If you don’t want to, though… that’s fine, I understand.” Ford absentmindedly tugged at his coat sleeves, hoping that the reminder of their youth wouldn’t backfire and make Stan feel worse.

“No, no, this is nice. Let’s watch a movie.” Stan said, mustering up a winning smile. Mabel and Dipper crawled into the fort, snuggling up with Waddles under the blankets, and Ford started up the movie.

“ _That is the reason why your sister remains safely anonymous._ ”

“ _Leia… Leia’s my sister._ ”

“Wait… What?!” Ford’s face paled, and Stan couldn’t help but smile evilly.

“ _Your insight serves you well…_ ”

“No. No no no, no that’s not right, they had a-- Oh dear lord, over thirty years of _fanfiction_ \-- Stan! Wait here I have to burn something!” Ford had paused the movie and was running out of the living room, returning in a few short moments with a stack of old and yellowed papers and a lighter. Stan nearly bust a gut laughing when Ford set the stack ablaze. “Stan you knew about this!”

“Heck yeah, I did, and it was worth it!” He said, slapping his knee.

“Maybe writing Star Wars taught George Lucas the true meaning of planning ahead.” Mabel said, fighting laughter. “And I was right, watching it _with you_ really cheered him up!” She grinned, snickering a bit.

“Oh, I get it. Ha ha, meanwhile I have to go find a melon baller and pull my eyes out.” Ford deadpanned.

Dipper snickered and poked his head out of the fort, “Great Uncle Ford, you wrote _fan fiction_?”

“Dipper, I was around your age when the modern fan fiction was _invented_.” Ford said. “It was something to do during what little downtime I had. There weren’t computers back then, not like there are now, at least, I had to do _something_.”

“I swear, sometimes he’d stay up all night writin’ back in college. Lord only knows how he managed to get through all his classes with how much time he spent on those things.” Fiddleford cackled.

“Would you read my Ducktective fan fiction sometime, Grunkle Ford?” Mabel asked sincerely.

“If we’re talking about fan fiction,” Soos called from the front door, causing Ford to jump at the unexpected noise. “I’ve got some I wrote about all of us.” He said, dusting snow from his shoulders and hat.

“Soos, if it’s anything like the story you made up about all of us as video game characters, I think I’ll pass.” Stan rolled his eyes. “Let’s put on another movie, huh? Unless you wanna finish watching Star Wars? Or are you all burned out on it now, Ford?”

“I think I need a while to get over _that_ catastrophe…” Ford said. “Did… Did you have anything in mind?”

“Have you seen Jurassic Park? Everybody loves dinosaurs.” Soos suggested.

“They’re a lot less scary from th’ inside.” Fiddleford said, nodding his head. “I’m fine with watchin’ it if you are, Stanley.”

“Eh, whatever, it’s fine. Those fake dinosaurs in the movie look nothing like the real ones.” Stan said, shrugging.

“...What?” Ford asked, more than a little confused. “Is this another one of those comedy bits I don’t understand?”

“No, once a pterodactyl stole Waddles and we went on a journey under Gravity Falls to get him back.” Mabel shrugged. “Grunkle Stan punched it in the face.”

“Darn straight I did.” Stan said.

“... Are you sure it was a pterodactyl? They’ve been extinct in this dimension for millions of years.” Ford said. “Though, anything’s possible, especially in Gravity Falls.

“Actually, it’s _very_ interesting!” Dipper began, pulling his journal from his vest and flipping to his page he’d written on dinosaurs in Gravity Falls, “Underneath Gravity Falls, in an old abandoned mine shaft in the forest, there are a bunch of dinosaurs whose bodies have been preserved in tree sap for millions of years. There’s at least one pterodactyl, and a T. Rex, and I think I saw a velociraptor down there. When it gets too hot, the sap melts and frees the dinosaurs, and I guess they come out into town sometimes. I don’t know why it happens, though, I haven’t gone back down there since the last time.” He said, handing the book to Ford. There were rough sketches of the dinosaurs he had seen, a couple of blurry photographs, and a fully detailed account of their encounter.

“Incredible. You know, I think I’d like to field an expedition down there and study these things before the summer hits and they start to get loose again. See what kind of sap this is, why it has life sustaining properties…” Ford said, pouring over the page, before shaking his head. “But first, it’s movie time.” He said, shutting the book and handing it back to Dipper.

Dipper grinned and carefully put his journal away. Mabel dragged Dipper back down to get in the fort and Fiddleford popped the movie for all of them, before crawling into the fort himself, allowing Stanford to wrap an arm around his shoulders. The movie started up, everyone settled into a comfortable position, and Ford could only hope that he was doing things right when it came to actually taking care of everyone, making sure they were happy. He hadn’t thought about it much before, but Stan had been doing most of the legwork in that department, and with him out of commission, so to speak… Ford was thirty years rusty and didn’t have a very good start to begin with when it came to dealing with other people, and not knowing if any of this was even working was frustrating him to no end.

About halfway through the movie, there was a frantic knock at the door, loud and booming against the noise from the snowstorm outside.

“...I’ll answer it.” Ford said, quietly, slowly crawling out of the resurrected Fort Stan, careful not to knock it down. “It could be someone stranded in the storm, but… it could also be someone less than savory.” He reached for the pistol on his hip, pointing it at the ceiling as he made his way to the door, pausing a moment to look through the small window and check who it was. A man stood on the front porch, with a large nose, dark brown hair, and a bomber hat that covered his eyes. Ford furrowed his brow. He was certain he’d seen the man before, but he couldn’t place where. He opened the door, bracing himself for the worst. “Who are you, what do you want?” He said, his voice intimidating and powerful.

The man at the door froze, and Ford caught him staring at his hands, causing the age old insecurity in his gut to squirm.

“So the rumors are true. You’re alive.” He said, his voice a low southern drawl. “Stanford Pines? The real one?”

“Wait… _Tate_?” Ford asked, raising an eyebrow. “Tate McGucket? The last time I saw you, you only came up to my knees…”

“Yes sir.” Tate responded, taking off his hat so Ford could see his face. Tate had his father’s blue eyes, easy to recognize. “You wouldn’t by chance… happen to have seen my father around lately, would ya?” Tate's face was stoic and unchanging, but his hands gripped his hat with nervousness, he hunched over slightly like his father, something was causing him major stress. “It’s mighty cold out here, mighty cold… There’s a rumor aroun’ town he’s livin’ here now, I couldn’t find him at any of his usual spots. I hope he hasn't been given’ you any trouble… Truth be told, I’m worried about ‘im.”

“...Yes, yes he’s here.” Ford said, his voice quiet. “Why don't you come in?” Ford pocketed his gun, leading Tate into the kitchen, away from the living room. “Tate, let’s… let’s catch up a bit, there’s some things I feel I need to explain to you before you speak with your father.” He said. “I understand you’re no longer on the best terms?”

“That's… That's one way to put it.” Tate said, kicking snow off of his boots before entering the house. He took off his coat to throw it over his shoulder, following Ford into the kitchen.

“It was the memory loss, wasn’t it? I can’t imagine what it’s like watching someone fade away like that. I… wasn’t exactly around to see how bad he’d gotten, but from what he’s told me, it wasn’t good.” Ford said. “He was homeless for quite a while, I understand? Did you… I know it’s a prying question but, was there ever anyone to help him?” Ford asked. _I should have been there, I should have seen what was happening and prevented it before it got out of hand, I **knew** he was erasing his memories..._

“Dr. Pines… I tried. I'm tellin’ you, I tried. He was livin with me for a while, I took care of him as best I could, but it was hard. He would sneak out of the house at night, go runnin’ through the streets, hollerin’ and causin a fuss. When my fiancé… Well, she's my wife now, moved in with us, he got worse, he would get scared, thought she was an intruder, had a big fit… I couldn't take care of him no more. I'm not built to handle that. I couldn't afford to put him up in a home, I didn't know what to do. One morning he just up and vanished, he left, started living out on the streets again. I tried to get him to come home, stop frightenin’ people out in town, stop living in the dump, but truth be told I was cross with ‘im. I still check on him when the weather gets real rough, and when I didn't see him…”

Ford sighed, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “I understand what it’s like to...  How’d you put it? To not be built to handle things like that. I appreciate you _trying_. Your father and I are… very close--”

“You don’t have to sugar coat nothin’ around me. I know you dated back then, and I reckon you’re datin’ now.” Tate said, holding up a hand to stop Ford in his tracks.

“...Your father and I are romantically involved, and there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t wish I could’ve been there for him when he needed me the most.” Ford said. “I don’t believe you’re aware of what we were working on, and honestly I’d prefer if it stayed that way, but the fact of the matter is, you remember me, somehow. And I don’t believe you’ve ever told Stanley about that.” Ford said. “So… if not to keep our work a secret, then why wouldn’t you say anything?”

“Stanley? Is that his name in there? Your doppelganger?” Tate asked. “I reckon it was never really my business. My dad warned me to stay away from this place before he got really bad, that if I see somethin’ strange in town, don’t question it, just try to ignore it, and I listened. I noticed that ‘Stanford’ was a lot different than I remembered him being, namely that he seemed to have lost two fingers and his love of weird experiments. I figured I better stay out of it.”

“He’s my twin brother, and… staying out of it might have been for the best.” Ford sighed. “Tate, before I go and tell Fiddleford you’re here, I want you to know something: everything that ever happened to your father, the memory loss, the cults, _anything_ that happened after 1982, is squarely my fault. I take full responsibility for anything that happened between you two. Fiddleford was an excellent father, from what I can recall… Far better than any I’d ever encountered before or since, it’s my firm belief that you two would be the best of friends or at least on better terms if it hadn’t been for _my_ mistakes. He’s going to try to tell you different, but no matter what he says, I want you to remember that.” Ford said.

Tate silently stared at the table for a short while, before saying, “You can't change the past… I'd like to see my dad.”

“I’ll go get him for you.” Ford said, standing up. “He’s… He’s been doing much better lately.” He said, before leaving the kitchen, sneaking into the living room and gently taking Fiddleford’s hand.

“Darlin? What’s wrong, who was at the door?” Fiddleford asked. Ford didn’t say anything, he simply led Fiddleford out of the living room, into the hallway.

“...Fidds, it’s Tate. He’s here, he’s worried about you. He wanted to make sure you were okay.” Ford said, keeping his voice low.

“Tate?!” Fiddleford gasped, looking down to see what he was wearing. A handmade sweater, courtesy of Mabel, and some plain brown pants. “I should change! I need to comb my beard! Oh… Oh lord, I look a mess...” Fiddleford started to tremble, tears prickling behind his eyes.

“Fidds, you look fine,” Ford said, furrowing his brow. “Your clothes are fine, your beard is fine. I’m sure Tate wouldn’t mind even if they were dirty. Please don’t cry.” He said.

Fiddleford wiped his face with his sleeve and sniffled, taking a shuddering breath. “Are you sure? I don't want him to be scared ‘a me.”

“Fiddleford, you’re the least threatening person I know,” _Come on, Stanford, you can do this, you’ve calmed him down before… but that was with a kiss, that wouldn’t be appropriate in this situation, would it? Christ, I don’t know what to do…_ “I always feel safe around you, you’d never hurt anyone.”

“That-- That’s not quite what I meant, dear.” Fiddleford stammered. “I… I don't want him to think less than what he already thinks of me. Are you sure I look alright? I don't look… Like a kook?” Fiddleford tugged at his cropped beard and looked down at his feet.

“No, no darling. You look fine, I promise.” Stanford said, placing his hands on Fiddleford’s shoulders and giving them a reassuring squeeze. “Everything will be fine, I swear. Just… just talk to him, it can’t hurt.”

Fiddleford gave Ford a quick hug, squeezing tightly to remind himself that if Tate never wanted to see him again, he still had a family. He still had someone who loved him. Fiddleford took a deep breath and shuffled quietly into the kitchen, standing as straight as he could, clasping his hands together in front of him. “Hello, Tate. S-sorry I forgot to tell ya I… I moved in with the Pines.”

Tate's jaw dropped when he saw his father. He was clean, his beard was rimmed neatly and groomed, and he was dressed properly for the weather. He didn't look small anymore.

“Can I get you s-somethin’? We still got some waffles, I can make us some coffee, do you still like chocolate milk?” Fiddleford poked his head in the fridge to see what he could offer.

“Coffee.” Was all Tate could manage to say, still in shock. His dad spoke so calmly, softer, he didn't sound panicked or loud or… crazy.

“Comin’ right up!” Fiddleford got to making a fresh pot of coffee, his hands shaking as me measured out the coffee grounds. “S-so I hear you got married? What's the lucky lady’s name?”

“Jill.” Tate said. “She's still at the house, she's puttin’ up a room for you, but… I suppose you've already got one.”

“I… You d-don’t wave to worry about me none. An’ I'm sorry, I plum forgot about the wedding… B-but I'm doing better now than I was, at least. That's somethin’... right?”

“Yeah, it's sure something… How'd… What changed? What did Dr. Pines do that I couldn't?”

“We'll he did invent a machine that recovered most of my memories. I'm still missin’ quite a few, but we're making real progress.” Fiddleford said, doing his best to stand up straight, to not fidget with his beard or adjust the old scarecrow’s hat that was no longer there. He handed Tate a freshly brewed cup of coffee, pausing to let Tate take a sip. “I-it's alright… right? T-the coffee that is.”

Tate set his cup down with a soft sigh. Not even his wife could make coffee this good. “It’s good. Thanks, Dad.” Tate paused, looking around the kitchen, taking everything in. “Do they take care of you? I'm okay with you livin' here… But only if you're safe.”

“Tate, I reckon it's downright impossible for anything to hurt any member of this family so long as Stanford and Stanley are livin’ here.” Fiddleford said. “I do my best to look out for everyone but it's really them that do all the work in that respect. Stanley's lived a rough life, he knows his way ‘round. And having Stanford around is like havin’ a personal bodyguard with fluffy hair.”

Tate managed a tiny smile and took another sip of his coffee. “Well… What I came here to say was…” He took a deep breath, “You’re always welcome in my house, Dad. I’m sorry that I made you feel like you had to run off. Maybe we can get a fresh start. Seems like you’ve got your wits back.”

Fiddleford didn't say anything, he merely sat there, dumbstruck. _Tate hadn't come here thinkin’ I'd regained my memories somehow… he… he really does mean it about bein’ welcome in ‘is house…_

“Dad, ever since Ma passed, I've been worried about you. But even with your head gettin' all mixed up, you seem to be doing better than she ever did. Despite all the times you weren't able to be there for me, you did your best.” Tate said quietly, looking away. He felt guilty for all of the times he felt ashamed of his father, he knew deep down there was nothing Fiddleford could do about his deteriorating state of mind. But now that he was recovering, was able to articulate what had happened in a way Tate could wrap his head around, he understood Fiddleford better. He was ready to forgive, and more importantly, to ask for forgiveness himself. “Dad… I'm sorry I turned my back on you, I really am. If there's any way you could ever find it in your heart to forgive me…”

Fiddleford took Tate’s hands in his own, shaking. “Son, there's nothin' to forgive. I've been a terrible father to you, and I wanna do better by you. I'll do anything to make up for all of those years I wasn't there. I shoulda been there for ya, an’ I shoulda done more to protect you… to protect _myself_ so I coulda been a decent father to ya.”

Tate gripped Fiddleford’s hands tight, and his voice wavered. “Dad… It's okay. I… I love you, Dad. M’happy to see you're okay.”

Fiddleford stood from his seat, rushing to Tate's side, throwing his arms around him and bawling. “Tate, my lil' tater-tot, I love you too. I miss you, I'm not gonna run out on you ever again!” He sobbed, big, wet, tears spilling down his face, clutching Tate’s back like he was never going to let go.

Tate held his father close, trying to get him to stop shaking like a leaf, thankful for how much heavier he felt than he had in the past, not more than four months ago, having to carry him out of the junkyard into someplace warm and dry. “I’ll be here for you too, Dad. I promise. I'm not gonna lose you like I… Like I lost Ma.”

“Oh, darlin’...” Fiddleford held his son closer. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’m not that old, I’ve still got another thirty years in me, easy. Heck, between Ford’s paranormal investigatin’ an’ spooky necromancy, I could be in the runnin’ to live forever, outlastin’ even the late Mayor Befufftlefumpter if I tried.”

Tate let out a small chuckle and pat Fiddleford’s back, a tear rolling down his cheek. “I missed you, Dad. When this snowstorm hit, an’ I couldn’t find you anywhere in town… I thought that...”

“Shh… Tate, it’s alright, I’m alright.” Fiddleford said, no longer choking out his half formed words between sobs, his voice comforting as he held his son close, acting as a father for the first time in too long.

Ford stood watch silently, just out of view of the kitchen, a soft smile on his face at Fiddleford and Tate’s reconciliation. He’d stayed to make sure Fiddleford would be alright, that he wouldn’t get overwhelmed or start to panic. And, though Ford knew that if he and Stanley could reconcile then Fiddleford and Tate could as well, a part of him stood watch to ensure that someone would be there for Fiddleford if Tate wound up rejecting him again. A part of him screamed, _he has his son back, he doesn't need you anymore,_ but Ford pushed it down, burying it under “ _I know_ ”s and “ _he’s going to hate me soon anyways, it’s only a matter of time_ ”s and “ _I’m going to enjoy what time we have left, if I break it off now I’ll fall apart_ ”s and “ _can’t you just be happy for him, damnit, stop thinking of yourself for once_ ”s.

Tate looked up over Fiddleford’s shoulder and gently pulled away from Fiddleford, not comfortable of being so affectionate in front of others. “I think it’d be best if I get going. I’ll come visit when the roads clear, but I should get back to Jill. She’s all alone in the house, probably wonderin’ when I’ll be back.” He said, slipping into his coat. “Thanks for the coffee, Dad. It was mighty swell.”

Fiddleford looked out the window at the heavy flurry, and grabbed Tate’s sleeve. “Call your wife son, there's no way you're goin’ out in this storm. It’s not safe out there.”

“Dad, I can handle myself, you don’t have to worry about me. The storm’s probably not too bad in town.” Tate said, eyeing the window.

“Tate Boson McGucket, I have lived in Gravity Falls for over thirty odd years, that’s a good fifteen longer’n you have, I know a blizzard when I see one.” Fiddleford chided. “An’ take it from a feller that once spent three weeks trapped in a military grade bunker with no hope of rescue and only yer best friend fer warmth, you don’t wanna get caught out in a blizzard somewhere you shouldn’t be.”

Tate was shocked, obeying his father and taking his coat off. “Yessir… I just hate to stay in yer hair for too long.”

“It’s no trouble, Tate.” Ford chimed in, standing in the doorway. “Any family of Fidds’ is family of ours. Truth be told, I’d like to catch up a bit, it’s been a very long time since I last saw you.”

Tate smiled a little, a twinge that barely showed under his stoic features, and sat back down at the table. “May I have another cup of coffee, in that case? If it’s not too much trouble, of course.”

Fiddleford smiled, wide and genuine and unafraid. “Of course, Tater Tot. I’d be more’n happy to.”

A light blush creeped across Tate's face. “I can't believe you remember that nickname.”

“I’m rememberin’ lots of things lately.” Fiddleford said. “Thanks to Stanford an’ his computermajig, that is.”

“He’s being modest, Tate. _He’s_ the one that’s been doing all the work” Ford said, frowning. “Helping him out is the least I could do, really.”

“Dr. Pines, what exactly happened to you?” Tate asked. “If it’s not too much to ask, that is. A secret kept thirty years has to have a story behind it.”

“...I was trapped in another dimension. Stanley spent thirty years trying to get me out of it. That’s really all there is to say on the matter.” Ford said, his thoughts beginning to race. “I should go let everyone know you’re here, I’ll be right back…” _You’re supposed to be spending the day with Stanley, too, he **needs** you. But Fiddleford needs you too and those are two completely different situations, can you even handle both at once? What if you did the wrong thing by eavesdropping and Fiddleford gets upset? And then Stan gets upset because you weren’t watching the movie with him? And would helping Fiddleford and Stan at the same time even work for either of them? You can’t just do trial and error with this, the price of failure could mean Stan getting mad or worse, could mean Fiddleford leaving you. They need different things, can you even figure out how to make them happy? Or are all those PhD’s for nothing? _Ford walked into the living room, pushing down his doubts before he could panic and render himself useless to either of them. “Stan? Er… Tate stopped by, looking for Fiddleford.” He said, lingering in the doorway, still trying to process everything that was happening.

“Oh, Christ, is he all right?” Stan asked, crawling out from the blanket fort and popping his back. “He got all freaked out from just _seeing_ Tate at the Halloween party.”

“Are they getting along?” Mabel popped oud from the fort, practically crawling over Stan to get out. “Grunkle Fidds really misses him… are they gonna hug it out?”

“I think they’re getting along now. They did hug, I think.” Ford said. “The storm’s officially a blizzard so Tate’s probably going to be snowed in with the rest of us for a while. We’re getting lunch started if you wanted to join us…”

“Big family lunch! Count me in!” Mabel cheered and grabbed Dipper, pulling him up and out from the fort. “Let’s go make everyone some family sandwiches, this is important!”

“...Stan can I ask you something?” Ford said, quietly, once Dipper and Mabel had left the room.

“Uh, sure?” Stan said, raising an eyebrow. “Shoot.”

“Stan how do you do it?” Ford asked, sighing and leaning against the wall. “This… I don’t know, dealing with other people’s emotions thing. I don’t… I don’t want to sound like I’m heartless, I just… there’s no other way to really put it. Stan I haven’t even done half of what you do in a day and I’m fu-- flipping exhausted. I need to be there for you, I need to be there for Fiddleford, but I don’t really know how to do both.” Ford said, cringing at the fact that he was even asking. Stan was already feeling down, he probably didn’t want to help, but if Ford continued on like this not knowing what he was doing, the effects could prove detrimental.

“Well the first thing is not feeling responsible for how everyone else is feeling.” Stan said, folding his arms. “If you’re getting overwhelmed, just let us know, take a break or something. Don’t worry about trying to make _everyone_ happy, cause more likely than not, that’s never gonna happen. Ford, we know you love us, in your own nerdy way, and we appreciate that you wanna be here for us, but we also know that you can only do so much.” Stan said. “Trust me, puttin’ yourself through hell to make someone else feel better ain’t fun… And, hey, the fact that you want to be here for us means so much to everyone, and it means a lot to me. The thought really does count, this whole thing you set up today… it really cheered me up, you know?”

Stan stiffened when Ford wrapped his arms around Stan's shoulders, pulling him close. “I just want you to be _okay_. I haven’t been half the brother to you that you are to me, but I really care about you, and I don’t want to make things worse.” Ford said. “Things aren’t quite the way they used to be, but I’m willing to try and make things _right_ …”

“Ford…” Stan slowly put his arms around Ford in return. “I know you’re tryin’ your best. I’m just glad you don’t hate me anymore…” He said, resting his head on Ford’s shoulder. _Even if I didn’t really do anything to earn Ford’s trust in the first place… nothing I did really mattered in the end… but it’s better than fighting with him, at least._

“I’m so sorry, Stanley.” Ford said, hugging Stan tight. “It was ridiculous for me to have been angry at you, especially without the full story, and _especially_ with what you were going through while I was safe at college with a roof over my head. Even before, during those last few months of high school, I should have tried to find you the second I’d heard you’d dropped out. I was stupid for ever even thinking of hating you, and I’m honestly not sure how you ever found it in your heart to be _near_ me after what I did. You needed me and I wasn’t there, and I’m sorry. I’ll be a better brother to you, I promise.”

“Don’t go and get sappy on me, Ford… Let’s just go make sure the kids haven’t ruined the kitchen, huh?” Stan grumbled, giving Ford a final squeeze before pulling away. “And, uh… thanks.”

Ford gave Stan a soft smile, happy that he’d done even a tiny bit to make Stan feel a little better.

In the kitchen, the kids had set out every possible sandwich ingredient they could find in the cabinets, trying to make the absolute perfect sandwich to impress Tate. “How do you feel about turkey, Doritos, and peanut butter?” Mabel asked, listing the first three things she touched.

“Mabel, NO.” Dipper took the peanut butter away from her. “We are not doing one of your experimental sandwiches right now.” He turned to Tate. “Do you want ham and cheese?”

“Whatever you rustle up will be fine.” Tate resisted laughing, he’d forgotten how much he liked being around the Pines this summer, seeing them at that lake always meant he would have an interesting day.

Dipper started making Tate a normal sandwich while Mabel got creative with things that really shouldn’t be condiments.

“So Grunkle Fidds told me that you're _married_ now!” Mabel said, having been unofficially banned from sandwich making. “What’s her name, what’s she like?”

“Her name is Jill. She’s one swell lady.” Tate said to Mabel, blinking down at the ‘sandwich’ set down in front of him. “Are those gummy chairs and corn chips?”

“Don’t eat that.” Dipper said as he set down a normal ham and cheese sandwich. “Especially if you're diabetic.”

Tate picked up Dipper’s sandwich and took a small bite, and took a bite of Mabel’s as well to be polite. “They're both mighty swell, kids.”

“Speakin’ of kids…” Fiddleford couldn’t help but ask, “Have you and your wife… are there any grandkids I’ve missed out on?”

“Not yet, Dad. Don’t worry.” Tate took another bite of Dipper’s sandwich. “But Jill an’ I have been talkin’ about it.”

“When you have a baby will you let us come see them?” Mabel asked. “Are you going to throw a baby shower? Why is it called a baby _shower_ anyways?”

“ _Mabel._ ” Dipper groaned, “He said they’re _talking_ about having a baby, thatdoesn’t mean there’s one on the way! Babies are scary.” He crossed his arm.

“If we decide to have kids, y’all will be the first to know.” Tate said, chuckling.

“Great!” Mabel beamed. “What do you want to drink? Coffee's for old people, do you want a Pitt Cola?”

“That would be swell, thank you.”

“Hey, now, I'll have you know I've been drinking coffee since I was a teenager.” Ford said, walking into the room.

“I’m surprised it didn’t stunt your growth, you drank it like your life depended on it in high school.” Stan said, elbowing Ford.

“And college, and during my research in Gravity Falls, and in the portal I drank any similar substance the multiverse had to offer.” Ford said. “You know, there was a time when my life _literally_ depended on coffee? In Dimension 140492 I came across a plant with an incredibly deadly but incredibly slow neurotoxin, and not knowing it was dangerous to humans, I accidentally consumed it. Fortunately, I had enough time to work out an antidote, which happened to be an extract from coffee beans.”

Dipper grabbed a few cans of Pitt Cola for everyone and set them on the table. “Isn’t caffeine dependency really dangerous, Great Uncle Ford?”

“Yes, but it’s better than the alternative!” Ford said. “Which would be, and would have been, much much worse than anything a cup of bean juice can do to me.”

“If you say so.” Dipper frowned, and handed Ford a caffeine-free Pitt Cola.

“There are worse things out there than caffeine, kid. Trust me.” Stan huffed. “And where’s Soos? He better not have gone back outside, it’s almost a white out out there.”

“I believe he’s checking all of the windows, if one of them is cracked open, this whole house will freeze.” Ford said as he sat at the table. “At least there’s plenty of food and water to go around, and we’ve got three backup generators in the basement if the power goes out. Soos brought firewood as well.”

“Did someone say Soos?” Soos popped his head in the doorway, face flushed from the cold and snow sloshing to the ground from his shoulders.

“Yes, actually.” Dipper said.

“Dude that like, never works. Awesome.” Soos pumped his fist in the air. “I think I might have to camp out in your living room tonight, Mr. Pines. That storm is _not_ giving up.”

“That means you too, Tate. We can set up our air mattress for you and everything, I hope your wife doesn't get upset that we're keepin’ you here with us.” Fiddleford said.

“She won’t if it means we’re all safe. I’ll have to call her an’ let her know, though.” Tate said. “I just hope _she’s_ alright out in this storm by her lonesome.”

“I can go get her, if you’re worried.” Ford said. “I’ve made my way through more treacherous terrain unharmed.”

“You’re staying put, Ford. I'm sure Jill will be fine. Nobody is goin’ outside until this storm is over.” Fiddleford crossed his arms, almost commanding. “And I mean _no one_.”

“If you insist…” Ford cleared his throat. “Tate, do you need to use our phone?”

“No, thank you, I have my own…?” Tate said, pulling out his cellphone.

“Oh. Right. Those are something everyone has.” Ford said.

“We really have to get you a phone, Great Uncle Ford.” Dipper snickered a little. “I think you'd like learning to use a smartphone.”

“How difficult could it be?” Ford chuckled. “I've got twelve PhDs and I've mastered far more advanced technology in my time.” He said.

“You'd be surprised, Poindexter.” Stan said. “There's a reason I kept my old Nokia."

“It doesn’t even have emojis! You take twenty minutes to type out a text!” Mabel gawked, “I don’t see how you can do it.”

Tate pulled out his phone to call his wife, his phone only a little newer than Stan’s, a familiar blue Razor.

“You’ve got a dinosaur phone too!” Mabel exclaimed, pointing at Tate’s phone.

“Hey, dude, those Razors were a status symbol a few years ago. If you had one you were automatically the coolest dude in the block.” Soos said.

“Yeah in what, 2007?” Dipper chuckled.

“Yes, actually.” Soos said, crossing his arms.

Tate stood and held his phone over his head and dropped it on the table, picking it back up without a scratch. “Can yer fancy phones do _that_?”

“My android can, I made sure to get one that was weather proof.” Dipper said.

“I don’t need all of that fancy nonsense.” Tate shrugged, and stepped aside to dial his wife’s number. Jill was a steady, predictable woman, and as always, picked up her phone on the second ring.

“Tate? Are you alright? This storm’s turned into a blizzard over here, did you find your father?” She said. Her voice was soft spoken, but firm. “Is he alright?”

“I did. He’s been stayin’ with the Pines like we heard. He’s… He’s a lot better. Almost a new person.” Tate held the phone to his ear as he watched Fiddleford chat with the kids at the table, and remembered sitting at that same table in his childhood, eating beans right out of the can _like a cowboy_ , his dad had told him. “I’m going to have to stay out at the Mystery Shack overnight, they’ve offered to put me up in their living room.

“That’s great to hear, Tate.” Jill said. “And don’t you get to thinking I can’t handle things out here by myself and come after me, I’m perfectly capable of sitting through a blizzard.” She said.

“Yes’m I know you are. I knew what I was gettin’ into when we got married.” Tate smiled softly to himself for a brief second. “I’ve seen you catch more steelhead than the best fishermen on that lake. I just wish I could be there with ya.”

“Oh, sugar, aren’t you sweet? The storm should die down by morning, so don’t go missin’ me too much. Be safe, spend a little time with your pop. I love you.” Jill spoke in a sweeter tone, she loved to make her stoic husband break his straight face, even if she couldn’t see it over the phone. “There’ll probably be venison for you when you get back if I get bored and need to cook something. Oh, and tell your father he’ll have to come over for coffee so we can have a proper introduction.”

“Yes, dear.” Tate said, his voice giving away the blush on his face. “I told him he’s always welcome over. I love you too, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He said, before hanging up the phone and returning to the kitchen.

“I think I’ll go set everyone’s rooms up,” Ford said, turning to leave the room. “If you need anything, just call…”

“I’ll go with you, dear.” Fiddleford said. “We can drag that mattress into the living room for Tate, and we can just share the couch.” He followed Ford out of the kitchen, towards their room.

Ford paused, raising an eyebrow at Fiddleford. “That couch isn’t big enough for the two of us, you can sleep on it tonight, I’m fine with the floor.”

Fiddleford frowned and nudged Ford. “Ford, I want to _share_ the couch with you. Make room… you know… snuggle?”

“Oh.” Ford said, before realization struck, his face turning beet red. “ _Oh_. I’d… I’d like that.”

Fiddleford grinned and bent down to grab the air mattress, “I’m glad. Will you grab Tate a pillow and blanket?”

“Uh, they _might_ all be in the living room already…” Ford said, scratching the back of his head. “I, uh, used as many blankets and pillows as I could to make that fort…”

Fiddleford laughed and started to drag the mattress out of the room. “That’s right! Well, I guess he can have his pick of ‘em then. I hate to take down your fort, but we all are gonna need blankets tonight.” He said as they rounded the corner into the hallway, heading towards the living room.

“Don't worry about it, Fidds. I think it's served its purpose.” Ford said, gently wrapping an arm around Fiddleford's torso. “I'm so glad you're working things out with Tate. He's really grown into a fine man, and… from what I could gather he really missed you.”

Fiddleford dropped the mattress and leaned into Ford. “It warms my heart. I never thought… I never thought he’d want me to be a part of his family, I’m so thankful for the second chance.” He said, a warm, gentle smile on his face. “I couldn’t have had this chance without your help, Stanford. This means so much to me.” Fiddleford rested his head on Ford’s shoulder and squeezed him as tight as he could.

“...I'd do anything for you, Fiddleford.”

Fiddleford smiled at Ford and placed his hand gently on Ford’s cheek. “How about a kiss, then?”

Ford gave Fiddleford a sly smile. “If that's what you'd like. I'd be more than happy to.”

Fiddleford leaned up for a quick and soft peck on the lips, satisfied with something short and sweet. “Stanford, I love you.” He said, chuckling a bit when he saw Ford blush.

“I love you too, Fiddleford” Ford said, hugging Fiddleford and resting his head on Fiddleford's shoulder. “I love you so much sometimes I get dizzy from it.”

Fiddleford chuckled and nuzzled his nose against Ford’s head, “I know that feelin’ all too well.”

“No, I mean I literally get dizzy and I need to sit down and process it all…”

“I hope I don’t make you uncomfortable… I know sometimes you can get a little overwhelmed.”

“No, no it’s not like that… It's just been so _long_ since I allowed myself to feel that way about anyone, much less someone as amazing as you, I… I guess I just forgot what it felt like. It's not a bad thing, I wouldn't trade it for the world.” Ford said.

Fiddleford batted his eyes up at Ford and leaned in for another kiss, “You really know how to make a fella feel special.”

“Fidds, you’re the one who… I mean… I don't know how, but you jump started my heart.” Ford said, smiling and giving Fiddleford his kiss, slow and sweet, just for him.

Fiddleford absolutely melted, a puddle at Ford’s feet, almost shaking in his arms. Fiddleford yelped and broke the kiss when he heard an _Ahem_ from the doorway.

“You two are worse than the couple Jill and I were stuck next to in a cruise ship cabin on our honeymoon.” Tate said.

Both Fiddleford and Stanford turned red, and Ford took an involuntary step backwards. Fiddleford tugged at his beard, stammering. “S-sorry about that! We we’re just settin up your bed in here and--”

“Dad, I don’t mind, It ain’t like I haven’t seen you two bein’ lovey dovey before. It’s kinda nice to see you got someone to take care of you. I was gonna see if you needed any help, but I think you’ve got it covered.” Tate said. Stanford was always there during the summers Tate had spent in Gravity Falls with his dad, way back when over thirty years ago. For a while, Fiddleford and Stanford made an effort to hide their romantic affairs, but after a few summers and the revelation that Tate didn’t particularly care about their genders, they became comfortable being themselves in front of Tate. Stanford had tucked Tate into bed, given him birthday gifts, put bandaids on his scrapes and booboos, he felt like long lost family to Tate.

“More often than not, it seems like it’s the other way around, but I am glad you approve.” Ford said, giving Tate a warm smile. Ford had never had children of his own, but getting to see Tate during the summer had always been such a joy. Tate had been much more rambunctious in his youth, and that suited Ford just fine. It reminded him of his brother in a fond way, coming home with bruises and bug bites and covered in dirt, begging Ford to tag along on another “science field trip” and not wasting a second before writing home to tell his mother about their day. Tate had been nothing short of a ray of sunshine, a ray that Ford had dearly missed on the other side of the portal. “The living room is fine with you, right Tate?” He asked.

“Sure it is, I appreciate it.” Tate said. “But what about Soos? Won’t he need a place to sleep, too? I’m not sure that air mattress is big enough for the two of us.” Tate said. “It looks like a twin sized, maybe a small double if you’re bein’ generous.”

Soos popped in, sleeping bag under his arm. “I got it covered dude, I’ll camp out on the floor. Shag carpet is a lot comfier than it looks.”

“Are you sure Soos?” Tate asked. “I don’t mind sleepin’ on the floor none. ‘Sides, I hear it’s your air mattress in the first place.”

“I’m sure, I’ve popped that thing before.” Soos said, motioning to the duct-tape covered mattress. “It sucks waking up because you’re deflating. I’m good with my sleeping bag.” Soos patted his sleeping bag. “Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

“If you’re sure.” Tate said. “I suppose I won’t object.”

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Stan held back a cough, taking off his glasses as they fogged up from steam from a boiling pot. “Hey, Dipper, how about giving me a hand over here, will ya?”

Dipper looked up from his book, leaning on the table to read it. “Huh? Oh yeah, sure.”

“Get over here with your glasses-less eyes and tell me when that pot’s boiling over.” Stan said. “I’m gonna get started on the cheese sauce.” He huffed, pulling out as many cheeses (and cheese byproducts) as he could, as well as some flour, pepper, milk, and butter.

Dipper sighed and bookmarked his page before getting down from his seat. “Fine.” He grumbled, walking over to the stove. “So I just have to wait for it to bubble...?”

“Yeah, just let me know when it starts boiling.” Stan said, grating the cheese into a large bowl. “And then stir in the noodles, will ya?”

“Sure.” Dipper said. “Should… maybe we call Mabel down here to help? She’s better at this than I am, I always manage to burn everything, or undercook it, or burn _and_ undercook it.” He sighed, leaning up against the countertop and keeping an eye on the pot. “She just _got_ this stuff, I can’t do girly stuff like this. I can’t even hard boil an egg.”

“Hey, cooking is _not_ girly, and don’t ever tell a girl that it is because that’s how you get slapped. Women are just naturally better at everything, and they’ll tell you so too. Cooking is an important skill to learn, don’t be like Stanford and starve because you don’t know how to make a meal in college.”

“Grunkle Stan, Ford will literally put anything in his mouth.” Dipper deadpanned. “I saw him tasting a rock once, he said he had to check to see if it was a fossil. I don’t think finding something to eat was ever a problem for him. Finding something that’s actually _food_ , on the other hand...”

“Dipper, if I ever catch you eating rocks, you’re grounded. Here, this is easy to make from scratch, and it’ll impress the ladies… or fellas… or whatever the heck you’re going for.” Stan said, passing Dipper the recipe torn out of Martha Stewart’s Living magazine. “Trust me, even Ford knows how to cook _some_ stuff. He just forgot how to do it in a real kitchen.”

Dipper studied the recipe closely, looking at the ingredients Stan had to make sure they were following the recipe. “It says a stick of butter. Are all sticks of butter the same size? This seems like an impractical way of measuring stuff…”

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Dipper, I’ve got all the stuff, don’t worry about it. You really don’t know anything about cooking do you...?”

“Well… Mom and Dad tried to teach me but I just couldn’t get it. I told you, I keep burning things or not cooking them all the way through. And Mom never used exact measurements so I never really got any of her recipes right.” He said, looking down at his feet. “I don’t know what it is, I just can’t do it.”

“You’ll be an expert if you stick with me, alright?  You can do anything you put your mind to, you’re a smart kid. Come here, look.” Stan held up the stick of butter. “Every brand measures out the weight of the butter on the wrapper so you’ll always have exact measurements. After you’ve been cooking for a long time, you remember about how much of everything you need, so once you learn how to do it by the book, you can do it with your eyes closed. I guarantee you that’s how your mom started, and then once she got good enough she just eyeballed whatever ingredients she needed.”

Dipper nodded and looked at the stick of butter. “So...that’s half of a pound?”

“Exactly, you’re getting it already.” Stan said. “Just… uh, think of it like chemistry or something.” Stan said, trying to think of something for Dipper to relate cooking to, like Ford had always done for him. Looking at a problem in a different way had always helped Stan in the past, and if Ford hadn’t picked up on that in their youth, Stan was sure he wouldn’t have even made it to high school. “Now, go check on that water. If it’s boiling, big bubbles, stir in the pasta, turn the stovetop down a couple of notches, and keep stirring that. If you just let it sit the noodles will stick to the bottom of the pot, and it’ll boil over if you keep the heat on too high.”

Dipper nodded and grabbed the box of macaroni. He had to get this right, this was supposed to be _easy_. He poured the noodles into the boiling water and turned the stove down to a medium heat, grabbing a large wooden spoon and gently stirring them. “...Like this?”

“Yeah, you got it, kid.” Stan said. “Now let’s preheat this oven to 400 degrees and get started on the cheese. Grab me another pot, about as big as the one for the noodles.”

Dipper searched through the cabinets and pulled out two different pots, a saucepan, and a huge pot for soup. “Uh… which one do we need?”

Stan pointed to the smaller of the two. “That one should work. Alright, now start grating the cheese.” Stan said, handing Dipper a block of cheddar cheese and a grater. “You’re going to want a tight grip on the grater, but don’t press down _too_ hard with the cheese or it’ll slip and you’ll cut yourself. And unless someone’s not being honest, no one in this house is a vampire so we won’t be needing blood for dinner.” Stan said, chuckling. “Alright, so the recipe says we need ten ounces of cheese, and that block is five, so we’ll need two of ‘em.”

Dipper ripped the packaging of the cheese open and started grating it into a bowl. “This is a lot harder than it looks… why didn’t you get it pre shredded?”

“It tastes better this way.” Stan shrugged. “Plus it’s a little cheaper than getting those fancy packets of pre shredded cheese.” He said, getting out some measuring cups. “And when you’re done with that, measure out two cups of milk and pop it in the microwave for one and a half minutes. I’m going to go ahead and strain the macaroni and put it aside. When the milk is done, add that and two tablespoons of flour to the cheese.”

“Flour? What does that do, I thought that was for… cake and stuff?” Dipper asked as he struggled with the cheese, switching shredding arms when he got sore.

“It’ll thicken the cheese, make it all creamy and stuff, so it won’t stick to your throat or anything.”

“Huh. So it makes stuff thicker?” Dipper asked, moving on to heating up the milk. “This stuff is… kinda interesting.” He said.

“It’s kinda fun once you get the hang of it.” Stan said. “And once you know the basics you can cook pretty much anything.”

“Thanks, Grunkle Stan.” Dipper smiled softly and finished mixing all of the sauce ingredients together. “Is this good?”

“Yeah, kid. You got it. Now let’s heat this stuff up.” Stan said. “Then we’ll pop it in the oven and have some dinner.”

“Okay!” Dipper set his bowl down and Stan mixed the noodles with the sauce, and poured it all into a casserole dish, popping it into the oven. “...Do you think it’ll turn out okay?”

“Dipper, it’ll turn out fine. Uh, thanks for your help.” Stan said. “I really appreciate it…” He mumbled.

Dipper watched Stan place the food carefully in the oven and went back to his book at the table, keeping a close eye on the oven. “Thanks, Grunkle Stan. I think this might be the first time I’ve actually succeeded at cooking something.”

“And it won’t be the last.” Stan said, sitting down next to Dipper. “Kid, you’re thirteen, no one expects you to be able to be a world class chef yet. Mabel might have picked up on this stuff pretty quick, but keep in mind we’re talking about the girl who churns out fifteen sweaters a week, and made three formal ball gowns in a day. People… people just have different talents, you know?” He said. “You’re better at nerd stuff, and Mabel’s better at art stuff. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Stan took a deep breath, wishing that someone had told _him_ that when he was Dipper’s age.

“Yeah, I guess so. I guess I kinda want to be good at everything, but that’s sort of impossible. I don’t like not being good at stuff. Like… I’m supposed to be the smart guy, the guy people come to for answers. If I can’t do _that_...” Dipper trailed off.

“Kid, you’re plenty smart. Too smart, if you ask me, but what do I know?” Stan said. “Listen, you’re still a kid. The reason people don’t go to you for answers is ‘cause adults go to _other adults_ for help. It’s like, the golden rule of adulthood: whatever your problems are, don’t get a kid involved in ‘em. Nobody expects you to know everything, you still got plenty of time to learn about stuff, and you’re still smart.” Stan said, wrapping an arm around Dipper’s shoulders. Dipper smiled, wrapping his own arms around Stan’s torso as best he could, giving him a tight hug.

“Thanks, Grunkle Stan.”

It took a good half an hour for the macaroni and cheese to finish cooking, but dinner was at least calming, despite the blizzard raging outside. Eventually, Tate and Soos settled into the living room to go to bed, Dipper and Mabel had returned to the attic, and Fiddleford had left to go prepare the couch in his and Ford’s room for two, leaving Stan and Ford to clean the dishes.

“...Stan?” Ford said, his voice quiet, scrubbing at a plate and trying to get bits of cheese off of the surface. “Do you… do you want to talk about this? About… getting help?”

“What? Help with what?” Stan grunted, trying dry a plate with his shirt, having misplaced his dish towel.

“With… with _this_. Stan, you’re not _okay_ , and I’m worried about you.” Ford said, gesturing to his own head. “...You were the one who suggested I get some help earlier. So why avoid getting any yourself after all these years?”

“...Look, Ford, it’s fine, _I’m_ fine. I’ve been through worse--”

“Stan, don’t give me that. I’ve been through countless dimensions, faced things that would drive most people insane and come out the other side of situations you can’t even imagine, I’ve been far, _far_ worse than I am now, and you still insisted that I get help. And I still recognized that I needed it. So don’t tell me that you don’t need it just because you’ve been through worse.” Ford said, gripping the plate in his hands as tightly as he could.

“Ford… I, I don’t have time, I’ve got a house to run, a business, I’ve got to look after these kids. I can handle myself, I have for years… I faked my own death, and a dead man can’t see a doctor anyways.”

“Stan, we both know you forged ID’s and social security cards in order to sign the kids up for school. Just because you faked your death doesn’t mean it’s hopeless.” Ford said.

“Alright, alright… I’ll get help. If it’ll get you off my back.” Stan huffed.

Ford set the plate on the counter, nearly dropping it, and wrapped Stan in a warm hug, pulling him close. “I don’t want to lose you…” He said, quietly, practically clinging to Stan at this point. “I can’t lose you again.”

Stan stiffened, surprised. “You’re really worked up over this, aren’t you...?” Stan returned Ford’s hug, squeezing tight. “I’m not going anywhere, I’ll get help, and I’ll be okay. Just like you are.  You’ve had a long day, why don’t you get to bed, I’ll finish these dishes up, but you’re doing ‘em tomorrow night.”

“Of course I’m worked up over this, Stanley.” Ford said, not letting go of Stan. “I just… I really care about you, and I _finally_ pulled my head out of my ass and realized that you care about me too. And I don’t want to lose that, or ruin it again.” Ford paused, taking a deep breath. “So if you’re depressed or something, of course I’m going to be worried.”

“You’re getting sappy on me again. I care about you too… so thanks for caring. I promise, I’ll look into therapy or something. See a head doctor.”  Stan said. “And seriously, go get some sleep or something. I can handle things in here.”

“Are you sure? I can do the dishes, it’s fine. I’m not tired in the slightest, it’s barely nine o’clock.” Ford said.

“Stanford. I’m _trying_ to get you to go _relax._ Go _lay down._ With _Fiddlenerd_.On this _chilly winter’s night_ , in a cabin in the woods.” Stan said. “And the _only_ reason I’m trying to get you to go do that is ‘cause I know you _don’t_ do the whole… sex thing.”

Ford turned red and punched Stan’s arm, a little hard. “I don’t need your assistance with that, Stanley!”                                                                                                                                    

“Just go cuddle your hillbilly.” Stan said.

Ford huffed and crossed his arms, “Maybe I _will._ ”

“That’s the spirit!” Stan said, laughing. “Seriously, though, he’s probably waiting. Go on your nerd date, I’ve got things covered.” He said. “Oh, and Stanford?”

“Yes, Stanley?” Ford asked.

“...Thanks for cheering me up today.”

“You deserve it.” Ford said, giving Stan a warm smile before leaving the kitchen, tiptoeing through the living room and heading towards his own, where Fiddleford was waiting.

Fiddleford sat in his nice new pajamas, flannel striped, and draped a blanket (a large comforter fit for a decently sized bed) over his lap. He had removed the back cushions from the couch for make more room, and covered the sofa with a clean sheet. He perked up a little when Stanford entered the room.

“Well, howdy.” He said, unfolding the blanket. “So… er, how do you reckon we should go about doing this?”

“W-well… seeing as I’m a lot heavier than you are, maybe you can lay on top of me?” Stanford suggested, taking a seat next to Fiddleford, placing a hand on his leg.

“I suppose I can manage that.” Fiddleford said with a sly smile, wrapping his spindly arms around Ford and carefully climbing into his lap. Ford immediately returned the hug, allowing himself to relax against Fiddleford, feeling safe, and warm, and _loved_. Fiddleford lay his head in the crook of Ford’s neck, his breath softly tickling Ford’s skin.

Ford gently placed a kiss on Fiddleford’s forehead, murmuring a soft, quiet, “I love you,” in his ear.

Fiddleford sat up just a little to look at Ford, smiling like a fool. “I love you too, Ford. I love saying it.” He placed a sweet kiss on Ford’s lips, lingering in case Ford wanted another, his heart fluttering when he found Ford _did,_ returning with another kiss. Fiddleford was careful with his hands, placing them on either side of Ford to hold himself up, not touching any bare skin, keeping plenty of space between them, hyper aware of who was doing what and where, and who was in danger of sending whom into a panic attack. Ford rested his shaky hands on the small of Fiddleford’s back, earning him a happy sigh. Ford took a deep breath, steadying his nerves, and pulled Fiddleford into another kiss. The only sound came from the howling storm outside.

Ford leaned in for another kiss, but stopped short. Every muscle in his body tensed, as if on command, as an unnatural _cracking_ sound reached his ears, a sound that was most definitely _not_ coming from the wind. Fiddleford felt Ford go rigid, and nearly let go of him, but before he could react, Ford’s arms were gripping him far too tightly, and Ford was on his feet, sprinting to the opposite side of the room, heading for the doorway.

Fiddleford gasped, clutching Ford for dear life as something fell through the roof, bringing snow and spraying splinters and debris everywhere. Ford pressed Fiddleford up against the wall, shielding him with his own body. The noise was deafening, but through the chaos Fiddleford worked out that a pine tree must have been knocked over by the storm outside, that Ford had saved his life.

The room felt thirty degrees cooler, filling with snow and pine needles, and the howling wind that tore through the room wasn’t helping. Ford’s hand flew to the gun on his hip, his mind listing dozens of paranormal reasons for the fallen tree, ready to defend Fiddleford, to defend his _family_ from anything that dared attack them.

Their bedroom door flew open, Stanley practically falling through the doorway. He shouted, “Stanford! Fidds! Are you okay?! Holy sh-- get out of there!” Stan threw a quick glance around the room, taking in the damage. The very top of a pine tree has smashed through the roof, breaking the window, covering the now broken couch. The room was filled with glass and wood and snow, and if Ford and Fiddleford hadn’t hopped off of the couch when they did, they would have been squashed. Stan grabbed Ford’s arm, pulling him and Fiddleford through the doorway. “Oh my _god_ you two could’ve both been _k-killed_!” He stammered, pulling them both into a hug. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“W-we’re fine… is everyone else okay, did anyone else get hit?!” Fiddleford stammered out, gripping his beard.

“I don’t think so, it looks like the top of the tree is the only part that actually made contact.” Stan said. “I’m gonna go check on the kids, stay in the living room in the middle of the house or something.” Stan was shaking, tears forming in his eyes at the thought of losing his brother yet again, and turned to run up the stairs, bounding into the attic at top speed and nearly tripping over Dipper and Mabel as they ran down the stairs.

“Grunkle Stan! We heard a noise, I think a tree hit the house!” Dipper said, gripping Mabel’s hand for dear life, keeping close to her.

“I think a part of it hit our room.” Mabel said, tears in her eyes, “Is everyone okay?”

Stan knelt down and scooped up the kids, wrapping them in a warm bear hug. “Everyone’s fine, the tree hit Ford’s room but everyone’s fine. Are _you_ two okay?”

“We were just really scared… What happened? Was it a tree monster? A Gremloblin?” Dipper asked, clinging to Stan with all his might.

“It was just the storm, Dipper. Everyone is safe.” Stan said. “We’re all safe.” _For now, for once, we’re safe._

“W-Where’s Grunkle Ford?” Mabel stammered. “You said he was okay, we want to _see_ him, where is h-he? Where’s Gru-Grunkle Fiddleford?”

“Stan, are you… are you _sure_ everyone’s g-going to be fine?” Dipper asked. “T-that tree s-sounded like it could’ve hurt someone, Ford and Fidds could have--” He choked back a sob, burying his face into Stan’s shirt. “They could have internal bleeding l-like-- like _M-mom_ and--”

“Dipper, the tree didn’t even touch us.” Ford said, walking up the stairs to where Dipper and Mabel were, leaning down to pull both of the twins into his arms, Stan helping them make the switch. “I promise. I heard it coming and we got out of the way just in time. The only thing that got hurt was the couch.” He said, holding them close. “We’re all fine, we’re all safe. No one’s going anywhere.”

Mable sniffled and looked up at Ford, touching his face, “You h-have sp-splinters on your cheek. Are you s-sure you’re okay?”

“Mabel, I’m fine.” Ford said, running a hand along his cheek and plucking out a few splinters, tossing them aside. “These splinters aren’t even that bad, they’re not like the ones Stan and I used to get running around Glass Shard Beach. Those were tiny, and next to impossible to get out. At least you can see these, and I won’t need to break out the tweezers.” He said, hoping to calm her down a little.

“W-where are you going to sleep though?” Mabel asked, the tears in her eyes threatening to spill over at any moment. “I-if the tree c-crashed through your room then wh-where are you going to sleep?”

“You c-can take my bed!” Dipper offered. “If you and Fiddleford squeeze you might fit. I can share with Mabel, just for tonight. She punches in her sleep so I’ll just put a pillow between us.” He said.

“I d-don’t always punch in my sleep...” Mabel crossed her arms.

“That’s very generous kids, are you sure? I could find a way to make us comfortable in the basement, I’m sure.” Ford said with a wave of his hand.

“No, you’re sleeping _upstairs_ away from the basement.” Stan huffed, knitting his brows and trying to push down memories of Ford floating through the portal, screaming for help. “I think the attic will do for the night.” He said, crossing his arms.

Mabel and Dipper crawled down from Ford’s arms and clung to each other.  “I don’t think I can sleep anymore.” Mabel sighed.

Fiddleford peered up from the bottom of the stairs, before walking up to the rest of the family. He gently ruffled Mabel and Dipper’s hair, smiling and speaking softly. “How about some hot chocolate to warm you kids up and then we try gettin’ to bed?

“With marshmallows?” Dipper asked quietly.

“Of course, Dipper.” Ford said.

Mabel held Fiddleford’s hand tight, thankful that she didn’t feel any splinters. “I’ll help you make it.”

“Thank you, little lady.” Fiddleford gave her another smile and led her down to the kitchen, not letting go of her hand.

“...Can I help, too?” Dipper asked, fidgeting with his hands.

“Sure thing. Will you get mugs for everyone?” Fiddleford said when they all tiptoed into the kitchen, only to find Soos and Tate were already up, trying to find the source of the noise.

“Dudes, is everyone alright?” Soos said. “That tree sounded like it hit the house.”

“It did, right in our bedroom.” Ford sighed. “Are you two alright? None of us were injured.”

“We’re fine, it just spooked us is all.” Tate said, looking Fiddleford over quickly to make sure he was alright, barely letting a tiny smile show on his face when he found his father safe and sound.

“We’ll have to call Manly Dan in the morning to fix it, but I think I can seal off the room so the rest of the Shack doesn’t get damaged.” Soos said.

Fiddleford went on getting hot chocolate mix prepared, and placed some water in the kettle on the stove, not as shaken as he was when the tree hit, trying to be calm for the kids’ sakes. “Anyone else want a mug of cocoa? Ford? Tate?”

“I think I’ll take one.” Tate said, taking a seat at the table. “You sure you’re alright, Dad?”

“I’m fine, Tater Tot.” Fiddleford said. “Thanks to Ford, that is. He saved me…”

“We were just lucky I heard the tree as it was falling.” Ford said, scratching the back of his head, wincing when he pulled out another few splinters. “We’re all a little shaken, but we’re going to be alright.”

“Oh, you’re jus’ bein’ modest.” Fiddleford said, placing a big kiss on Ford’s cheek. “You saved my hide back there, you’re a regular superman.”

Ford felt his face flush as his entire world came to a halt, and it was just him and Fiddleford. He’d… He’d finally, _finally_ done something _good_ for once, something that helped him get one tiny step closer to redemption, something that might get someone to think back on him fondly when he was gone. He thought on his quest to revive Sherman and Alexandria, of the rift in the basement that still needed fixing. He knew the path to his redemption was long, and difficult, and that he’d likely never see the end, but at least now, it felt like maybe he had a chance to be forgiven. He could be Fiddleford’s _hero_ for once.

And maybe, in time, he could be _everyone’s_ hero too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading! If you like it be sure to let us know and you can comment below if you have any questions about the fic! The next chapter will be up soon! Once again, our tumblr url's have changed so please use the new url's!  
> (the-stan-twin.tumblr.com and the-ford-twin.tumblr.com)


	18. Mad Stan Fury Ford

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 19-20-1-14 23-1-14-20-19 20-15 6-15-18-7-5-20 20-1-6-6-25 20-8-5 13-15-19-20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of violence in this chapter, extreme anxiety attacks, mentioning of suicide, and that whole implied/referenced sexual assault tag comes into play in this chapter. Just a forewarning, enjoy the chapter!

Fiddleford awoke in the living room, morning sunshine streaming down on his face and the sound of Manly Dan’s chainsaw buzzing in his ears. The storm had died down a few days ago, giving Dan enough time and space to work on getting the tree out of the house. Fiddleford felt a gentle shake on his shoulder, and opened his sleepy eyes to find a warm six fingered hand in his.

“Fidds… I need your help with something. It’s important.” Ford said, his voice quiet. He was smiling, a small smile, but one whose warmth radiated throughout the room.

“Mmm… what is it darlin’?” Fiddleford asked, stifling a yawn.

“Well… I think I found a way to save Sherman and Alexandria.” Ford said. “Or at least summon their ghosts. There’s enough wood from that tree… and I managed to create an ink that resonates with the spirits of the dead… that I was able to make this.” Ford said, quietly, trying not to get his hopes up and holding out a homemade Ouija board.

Fiddleford sat up and rubbed his eyes, blinking rapidly to make out exactly what he was seeing. The board was beautiful, the wood was a standard pine, but the ink that marked the lettering shimmered and resonated an eerie teal color, despite the fact that the ink was so dark Fiddleford nearly got lost in the blackness. In Stanford’s other hand, he held a planchette, encrusted with all manner of strange stones, likely for attracting any wayward spirits.

“It’s more than a little dangerous to use these things alone, I need your help, Fidds. Stanley’s too. The kids are at school, so I can’t just ask them.” Ford said.

“Are you sure this will be safe? For all of us?” Fiddleford asked, nervously eyeing the Ouija board.

“I’m more than capable of dealing with anything that tries to contact us, as long as we’re all on our toes and we all have our guard up, we’ll be fine.” Ford said. “I have my misgivings about this too, but… I have to try. I understand if you don’t want to, but I _have_ to try.”

Fiddleford sighed and placed a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “It’s for the kids. I’ll help.” He said, giving Ford a reassuring nod.

“Thank you, Fiddleford…” Ford said, his smile growing a touch more melancholy, having to remind himself that this wouldn’t be like thirty years ago, that this was Sherman and Alexandria he was trying to summon, not Bill Cipher. “Thank you, I really appreciate it. Stanley’s already in the kitchen, we’ll set it up in there.” Ford said, gently taking Fiddleford’s hand and leading him to the kitchen.

Stanley was already seated at the kitchen table, notebook in hand and idly tapping a pen against the table. “You two nerds ready to get started?” He said.

“Yes, but first, let me bring Fiddleford up to speed.” Ford said. “Fidds, we’ll need three people for this. Stan’s going to take notes and decipher what any spirits we contact are trying to say. He won’t actually be touching the planchette, you and I will be doing that. I’ll be the one actually facilitating communication. I’ve had the most… er, experience with this type of thing, and I’ve got the strongest defense against any malicious spirits that might come our way. All you have to do is keep your hands on the planchette, Fidds. And it’s important that you don’t speak while we’re doing this. Just try to remain focused and calm, no matter what happens.” He said, giving Fiddleford’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Alright, does everyone understand what they’re going to be doing?”

Fiddleford nodded, trying to hide his nervousness. “I think so, Ford.”

“Let’s just get started, yeah?” Stan said, having mastered the art of not getting his hopes up a long time ago.

Ford nodded, turning down the lights in the kitchen and placing the Ouija board on the table. The eerie teal from the letters reflected in Ford’s glasses as he placed his hands on the planchette, motioning for Fiddleford to do the same. Once Ford saw that Stan was ready, he took a deep breath and spoke a summoning incantation.

“Salve spiritus, exi spiritus, volo loqui spiritus, permitte mihi loqui cum spiritus, huc spiritus, da mihi loqui spiritus!” The words rolled off Ford’s tongue, and the letters on the board seemed to glow brighter with every syllable, but nothing happened.

Stan looked through the first journal, which he’d been using as a reference in case the ghosts spoke in code, and elbowed Ford. “Are you saying it right?”

“Of course I’m saying it right. Hang on, let me try a different one.” Ford huffed. “ _Vfojq epsfkwj wjt wlszwjtfow vwum_!” The letters seemed to fizzle and spark with light, but the planchette didn’t even budge. Ford knitted his brow in frustration, everything he’d learned up to this point was proving useless. The gears turned in his head, a mile a minute, trying to think of an incantation that would work.

It hit him like a flash.

Slowly, he pieced together bits of old and broken languages, languages whose words were infused with a magic long dead.

“ _Tppcoic, Hpvtafkvze, bzp jqc ioiia? Szva psvzdpndtz, cfq czppuvfv xtua nvy, na mazw psv_.” Ford said, confident that this would be the one that would work. After all, what better incantation to use than one created during a time of a desperate need to save his loved ones?

The Ouija board crackled to life, swirling teal light overpowering everything else in the room, blocking out even the light from the sun. By the time the light faded, and the trio could see clearly again, they were no longer alone in the room.

Two figures floated before them.

“S-Sherman? Alexandria?” Ford gasped, taking in the sight of the specters before him, focusing on keeping his trembling hands on the planchette. “Is it… is it really you?”

“Hey, Stanford. Stanley. Long time, no see, eh?” Sherman chuckled. They looked… they looked _fine_ , like the crash had never even happened. If it wasn’t for the fact that they were a pale blue, Ford would have never known they were dead.

“You have no idea how empty the house feels without the kids in it.” Alexandria said, floating down to where Ford was sitting, still in shock at the sight before him. “My aunt is a nice woman, but she’s no Dipper and Mabel.”

“Y-You’ve been… You’ve been ghosts this whole time?” Ford asked.

“I’d say since about an hour after the funeral, but yes.” Sherman said, nodding. Stan was scribbling down every word that came from Sherman and Alexandria’s mouths, trying to hold back the tears in his eyes. He didn’t know if this would be the last time he’d see them again, or if they would stick around a bit longer. “We were stuck in San Francisco until you called, though.”

“It’s strange, how we’re almost _aware_ of what happened between when we died and when we… woke up? I suppose? Though you’d know more about it than us, I’m sure, Stanford.” Alexandria said, looking around the kitchen. “I stuck around because we’ve yet to schedule an appointment. I know it goes against patient confidentiality to mention it, but I’m sure you were wondering…” She said. “And they can’t exactly revoke my license now that I’m a ghost.”

“And Alexandria and I are a team, where she goes, I go.” Sherman said, wrapping a pale, glowing arm around his wife.

“You’re… You’re both still here, because…” Ford could barely get the words out of his mouth.

“We love Dipper and Mabel, more than anything, but you two, sorry _three_ , have done a wonderful job taking care of them.” Sherman said. “We’re at peace in that regard. And I don’t believe I’ve met this fellow here.” He added, gesturing to Fiddleford.

Fiddleford shook, his voice soft, “I-I’m Fiddleford Hadron M-McGucket…”

“He's my… er, boyfriend.” Ford said.

“That’s lovely! It’s wonderful to meet you. I’m sorry we couldn’t do this when we were alive.” Alexandria said, reaching out to shake Fiddleford’s hand. “My name is Dr. Alexandria Pines, and this is my husband, Sherman.”

“It’s a pleasure!” Sherman said, reaching for Fiddleford’s other hand, taking it in his and giving a firm shake.

“Oh, you don’t have to be afraid of us, we’re not going to hurt you!” Alexandria said, taking notice of Fiddleford’s shaken appearance.

“And Stanley! How’ve you been?” Sherman asked, floating over to Stanley. “How’s business at the Mystery Shack? Are the kids adapting to the new environment? Have they been on any more adventures?” Sherman asked, eager to know what his children had been up to for the past two months.

“Business has been f-fine.” Stan said, smiling and no longer bothering to keep the tears in his eyes from falling. “The kids a-are fine too, they, uh, they f-faced off a-against some pixies a couple weeks ago. And, uh, Mabel’s got herself a girlfriend now. Nice kid, Pacifica Northwest. Well, she’s not exactly _nice_ nice but she’s rich people nice, and she’s good to Mabel.”

“Summon me the second this _Pacifica_ stops being nice, got it?” Sherman chuckled.

“That goes double for me, okay?” Alexandria said, smiling. “So they’re at school right now, huh?”

“Yes. We weren’t sure if this would work, we didn’t want to break their hearts if it didn’t.” Ford said. “They’ve really missed you.”

“Well they won’t have to anymore, thanks to you Stanford.” Sherman said. “You gave us a way to see them again. You saved us.”

“And after all that, you deserve to be happy again.” Alexandria said, gently placing an incorporeal hand on Ford’s shoulder. “How about we schedule that appointment, huh?”

_“Hey!”_

“Do you hear something?” Stan asked, picking wax out of his ears.

_“Hey, hey buddy! Old guy!”_

Every muscle in Ford’s body went still. For a split second, Sherman and Alexandria’s forms flickered and changed, revealing wounds and scars and _blood oh god_.

_“Oh, Christ, why won’t anyone wake up? HEY! COME ON, YOU’VE GOT TO WAKE UP!”_

Something twitched and writhed in Ford’s heart, his head beginning to push through the drudges of sleep.

_“WAKE UP, MAN! THOSE KIDS ARE IN TROUBLE, YOU’VE GOT TO HELP ME!”_

Ford bolted upright, piercing through a sleep induced haze, confused and disoriented. _Was that real? Was I dreaming?_ He was in... He was in the living room, it was dark. A tree had fallen through the roof of the Shack the previous night, he’d been sleeping in the living room now that Soos and Tate had left. He hadn’t saved Sherman and Alexandria, and Ouija boards were just as fake as they’d always been. Something in Ford’s heart seized up and threatened to break, before he caught sight of a pale, glowing specter before him.

“Oh thank fucking god you’re awake! Okay, listen, you’re not going to like it when I tell you this but my name is Riley O’Connell, I-- I was the driver of the other c-car. Those kids up there, I killed their p-parents. I didn’t mean to, it was an accident, so I came up here to apologize.” The ghost was frantic, almost panicking. “And you’re not going to believe this, but you know the fucking illuminati triangle on the dollar bill? Yeah that thing kinda-- I don’t know, it kinda swooped over those kids an-and th-they started _screaming_ a-and I c-couldn’t _do anything_ and n-no one else i-in the h-house would _wake up and_ \--”

“Stop right there.” Ford said through gritted teeth. He sat up on the air mattress, not bothering to be careful for Fiddleford’s sake, and pulled his gun from its holster. “ _Normally_ I’d kick your ass and send you back to the afterlife where you belong. But I want you to tell me something, _ghost_.” Ford said, aiming the gun at the ghost before him. _The barrier, the tree must have damaged the barrier._ “You’re _sure_ the thing that’s attacking my kids was a triangle?”

“Yes, I’m sure!” Riley cried, bloody tears leaking from the blank space where their eyes should be. They wore a denim jacket that would have been dark green in life, and Ford noted that there was a large hole where their chest should be, with two bright red fuzzy dice hanging down from the top of the hole. The dice stood out against Riley’s pale form, likely a physical object rather than a part of her ghostly appearance. “Those kids are in danger, and _no one_ in this house is waking up! I-I can’t do anything, I was b-barely strong enough to get myself all the way to Oregon! They need your help!”

“Alright, I don’t give a shit whether you’re pure of heart or not, I need you to go out into the forest and get me some fucking unicorn hair.” Ford said, keeping the gun trained on the ghost as he turned to Fiddleford’s sleeping form. “Their glen should be about three hundred yards west of here, just _get the hair_ and get back here, _fast_.”

“W-What the fuck is a unicorn going to do?” Riley stammered. “Are unicorns even real?!”

“They’re real and if you don’t want the entire _world_ to end, you’ll just go _get_ me that damn hair!” Ford shouted, trying to shake Fiddleford awake. “Fiddleford? Fidds?! Wake up, it’s an emergency!” He pulled out the first Journal from his coat pocket, tearing out the page on unicorns before he could realize what he was doing, and threw the page towards the ghost. “Just follow that map, _ghost_.”

“Um, alright?” Riley stammered, picking up the page. “I-If you think i-it’ll help…” They flew off, out the door, as fast as they could. “And m-my name is _Riley._ ”

Ford couldn’t be bothered to care, the only thought on his mind was _stop Bill._ He kept shaking Fiddleford, trying to get him to wake up. _Finally,_ Fiddleford twitched and shuddered in Ford’s arms, opening his eyes and clinging to Ford’s coat for dear life.

“F-Fiddleford? Oh thank _god_ , you’re awake!” Ford stammered, cupping Fiddleford’s face in his hands. “Are you a-alright--” Ford stopped short, and his blood ran cold.

He _recognized_ the vacant stare in Fiddleford’s eyes.

“ _Votmzrig ivskrx oory…_ ” Fiddleford mumbled, rubbing his forehead, as if that would do anything to ease the migraine behind this skull.

“Oh, god, oh no, oh god, Fiddleford, I’m s-so _s-s-sorry_ ,” Ford stammered, choking back a sob. _Bill must have jogged his memory, the bastard._ “Fiddleford, wake up, you’re s-safe, I promise… Y-You’re not _th-th-there_ anymore…”

“G-get away from me.” Fiddleford’s voice was cold, icy. He had a hand on Ford’s chest, trying to push him away with as much force as he could muster. “Get _away_ from me!”

“Fidds?” Ford choked, his voice barely more than a whimper, tears threatening to spill out over his eyes.

“You… _You_ built that p-portal to c-cause the _end times_!” Fiddleford shouted, on his feet now and pushing Ford out of the living room. “You _used_ me! You _lied_ to me! Get away from me!”

“F-Fidds-- Fiddleford, I’m so sorry, I didn’t kn-know I was _t-tricked_ by a demon named Bill--” Ford stammered. “I lied, y-yes, but I w-was just trying to protect you fr-from remembering th-the _nightmare realm._ Bill’s _back_ and a-attacking--”

“Just leave me alone!” Fiddleford screamed, giving Ford one final push into the hallway before turning his back on him.

“I-I’m _sorry_ …” Ford whimpered, before slinking away, breaking into a sprint when he remembered that there were still others in the house he needed to get to before Bill did. _I’ll need help to save Dipper and Mabel, I just hope I can wake up Stanley in time_ … _no wait… it’s likely worse than that._ Ford thought to himself, reaching up to touch the metal plate in his head. _I just hope this old thing will still let me enter the mindscape and fix whatever Bill broke… And actually let me out when this is over…_ Ford reached Stan’s bedroom door, kicking it clean off its hinges and barreling into the room, his heart breaking when he saw Stan tossing and turning. Ford rushed to his brother’s side, giving him a shake, his heart sinking when he didn’t awaken.

Ford took a deep breath, placing a hand on Stan’s forehead, hoping that the trip into Stan’s mindscape wouldn’t be enough to dislodge the plate in his head, and recited a familiar incantation. “ _Fidentus omnium, magister mentium, magnesium ad hominem, Magnum opus, habeas corpus, Inceptus Nolanus overratus. Magister mentium! Magister mentium! Magister mentium!_ ”

The world flashed white, and for a minute, nothing happened. But then Ford felt himself being pulled into Stan’s mind, his soul fighting against the metal plate in his head. He winced as a sharp pain erupted just underneath where the plate was lodged, but pressed forward, clawing his way in until he recognized the familiar feeling of the mindscape.

The image before him was hazy, and not because of anything to do with Stan’s mind. It felt like Ford was walking with cinder blocks attached to his shoes, like someone had tied a rope around his waist, far too tight and digging into his skin, trying to pull him back out of Stan’s mindscape.

Ford recognized the Mystery Shack, though bits of it were floating away towards a sun that had been replaced with an eight ball. Ford trudged onwards, against the tug from the metal plate, his heart sinking when he passed a familiar swing set, overgrown with brambles, one swing hanging by a thread. Ford pressed forward, crawling at a snail’s pace but not giving up any time soon. Eventually, he reached the front door of the Shack, pushing it open and stumbling forward into an expansive maze of doors and stairwells. Looking around, Ford saw a door near the bottom of a large pit labeled “dreams,” flashing colors leaking through the cracks. Ford took a deep breath, steeling his nerves, and lept from the ledge he’d been standing on, controlling his descent so he wouldn’t wind up splattered against the floor. Once he reached the bottom, he spared a glance back the way he’d came, at the front door surrounded by a ceiling of stars. _I hope leaving is easier than coming in, at least._ He thought, before pushing open the door and rushing into Stan’s dream, hoping to somehow startle him into waking up.

Stan was shaking, backed into a corner and entirely too small. He gasped for breath, but the oxygen felt thick in his lungs, he couldn’t get a decent gulp of air. He shrunk away from Filbrick Pines, a figure that now towered over the twelve year old, scowling as he noticed big, wet tears in Stan’s eyes, his tiny hands tugging at an old, ratty red striped shirt.

“I-I d-di-didn’t mean to b-break it!” He stammered out, wincing as the band aid on his cheek tugged at his skin. A perpetual motion machine lay on the floor of Pines Pawns, the bottom of the machine scattered across the room. The machine still whirred, still functioned, making a sickening _thunk_ against the floor every time it made another rotation, like a dying insect.

“You’ve destroyed my property enough, I’ll make you learn your lesson!” Filbrick boomed, causing the entire world to shake. Stan pressed himself back farther into the corner of the shop, trapped, wishing he could disappear, wishing he’d never come into the world in the first place. Filbrick grabbed one end of his belt, intending to strike Stan with the buckle.

Stan flinched, and suddenly the world around him seemed small. _Too_ small. He looked down at his hands, big and meaty, perfect for throwing a punch, just like how Filbrick had wanted, but Stan would never dare to raise a hand against his father. His white shirt was stained with grease from toffee peanuts and sweat, and his face was covered in pimples. “D-Dad?” He stuttered, his voice cracking and changing, smoke pouring from his lips.

“You haven’t _earned_ your keep around here, and you never will!” Filbrick shouted, and the belt came down again.

Stan held his arms in front of his face to shield himself, letting out a whimper when he felt the sting of the belt against his forearms, barely missing his cheek. Suddenly, his clothes billowed out around him, turning from white to a gaudy blue, ruffles around his collar and the edges of his sleeves, his shoes bright red and comically large. His face was caked in stage makeup, and he felt his heart breaking.

“You’re pathetic, you’re an embarrassment, your life is a _joke_ that’s long since stopped being funny.”

Stan sunk to the floor, burying his face in his hands and sobbing, the greasy makeup on his face smearing onto his hands. He felt a shift again. He was wearing a baggy hospital gown, his skin wrinkled and decrepit. His eyes seemed sunken into his skull, and his hair fell out in tiny grey strands.

“Why don’t you just roll over and die? It’s about time you go to _hell_ where you belong.” Filbrick’s voice roared, deafening, and the belt came down again.

Stan cried out in pain, unable to defend himself, and he felt another shift. He gained more meat on his bones, but an emptiness opened up in his chest and hunger clawed at his stomach. His hair grew back, too long and entirely too greasy, and he found his hospital gown transforming into a familiar red jacket, stained and dirty. One short, panicked breath told him that he stunk to high heavens, that he hadn’t had a proper shower in months. Colors began to twist in on themselves, and the world around him seemed to collapse over and over again. He felt like his brain was melting, but it was better than reality. He felt a different sort of makeup covering his face, one that accented his features instead of distorting them.

“You’re a loser, all you’ve ever done is cause trouble, you’re _worthless_ , _shameless,_ scum of the earth. You’ll do anything or _anyone_ for a quick buck, won’t you?”

Stan could barely process what Filbrick was saying now, but he still broke down, letting the tears fall freely from his face and not doing anything to stop them. He couldn't muster the strength to brace himself for the next lash of Filbrick’s belt.

His heart somehow found a way to break even further when he looked up to see Stanford towering above him. He was younger, a teenager, small and lanky with a strong chin, but the look on his face told Stan everything he needed to know.

“God you're useless. I was _much_ better off without you. How dare you ruin _my_ futu--” The teen Stanford stopped short, his arm suddenly twisted behind his back, and an older Ford, the real one, Stan realized, flipped him over, slamming him to the floor with a loud _thud_.

“You idiot, it was a goddamned accident!” He screamed, straining his voice and struggling against the pull of the metal plate. He lifted his boot and stomped down on the dream Ford's chest, hard, cracking a few ribs. With a start, Ford noticed that his dream counterpart’s eyes were yellow.

“Well well well, look who woke up!” The other Ford said, an eerie, unnatural tone in his voice. “Darn, and I probably could've gotten a halfway decent deal outta this moron once I broke him down enoug--EURGH!”

Ford, the real Ford, Stan reminded himself, had willed a sword into existence, stabbing the dream Ford straight through the heart, pushing the blade down and twisting.

“Ha ha ha ha!” The other Ford sputtered up blood. “Guess it's onto _plan b._ See you soon, Sixer!” He said, before fading from existence. “Have fun with your little family reunion!”

“Family reunion…?” Ford wondered aloud. “What the hell does he mean by--” He didn't have time to ask, before Filbrick Pines had lifted Stan by the throat, trying to strangle him. Ford wasted no time in materializing a large rifle, taking aim at the dream version of his father and firing before it could hurt Stan, reducing Filbrick to a splatter on the wall in seconds.

“Stanford?” Stan managed to choke out, the world snapping back into its proper colors, his body shifting back to its normal self. “H-How are you… How are you here?”

“Stanley, you have to wake up. This is a dream, it's not real…” Ford said, his heart sinking. He'd only seen himself as a teenager berating Stan, but he knew that if Filbrick was involved, Stan had been put through a lot.  “I need you to wake up and help me get the kids awake. The barrier has been broken. The rift is fine but if we don't act fast that might not be true for long.”

“Ford?” Stan’s voice was quiet, heartbroken, and then something snapped. Ford felt himself being pulled back into his body, back into the physical world, he felt himself able to _move_ again.

Stan woke up sobbing.

Ford wrapped his arms around Stanley, despite the time crunch he knew that this was what Stan _needed_ right now. He’d already lost Fiddleford, he couldn’t lose Stanley too. “It's okay, S-Stan… It's okay, I've got you. I-I’m here. It was just a-- just a nightmare.” He said, quietly. “Nothing he said in there was true. He always, _a-always_ lies.”

“Th-That was him? Bill?” Stan choked out between sobs. “I-It was just d-dad… and y-you…”

“In your mindscape, he can take the shape and form of _anything_ , he was manipulating you, I'm so sorry, Stan. He was lying to you. I _swear_ he was lying…”

“I'm so sorry I d-dragged you down…” Stan stammered. “I'm sorry I was b-born in the first place…” Stan's voice was small, too small, Ford couldn't comprehend it.

“Don't say that!” Ford said, his voice cracking. “Don't say that, I… I-I need you, Stanley… _I'm_ the one who should be sorry… I c-couldn’t see how amazing you r-really a-a-are…” A tear trailed down Ford’s face. “I'm so sorry I didn't see it sooner. I-I was the one who r-ruined your life… D-dragged you down.” Ford took a shaky breath, trying to compose himself. “We need to get the kids. I need your help, Stanley… Please… I can't do this alone, I was barely able to wake you in time. I need _your_ help. ”

Stan took a deep breath, wiping tears from his face. “Let's go kick demon ass.” He said, standing up. “...How do we kick demon ass?”

“You'll need to recite an incantation to follow him into the kid's dreams. The mindscape is a labyrinth, but their dreams shouldn't be too hard to find. You'll be faster than I was, since you don't have this--” Ford instinctively reached up to tap the metal plate in his head, but stopped short, taking notice of the tiny drops of blood oozing from a small cut just below the plate.

“Ford is that blood? What the hell happened?!”

“It must have happened when I entered the mindscape…” Ford said, rubbing his fingers together. “The stress of going against the plate in my head must have pierced my skin. Don't worry, it's not bad enough to dislodge it. I'm fine, let's just wake up the kids.”

“Yeah… Yeah, let's go.” Stan said, not bothering to press for more details about the metal plate in Ford's head and running out of the room, Ford following close behind.

Stan and Ford busted into the attic, surveying the room for any threat. Dipper and Mabel tossed and turned in their beds, and Ford immediately rushed to Dipper’s side. “Stan, come here, I'll need you to go help Dipper. You'll be faster than I am in there. He's made a deal with Bill before, and it didn't end well, he's in serious danger and it'll only get worse the longer we wait. Put your hand on his forehead and repeat after me: _Fidentus omnium, magister mentium, magnesium ad hominem, Magnum opus, habeas corpus, Inceptus Nolanus overratus. Magister mentium! Magister mentium! Magister mentium!”_

“Uh… alright. Fidentus omnium, magister mentium, magnesium ad hominem, Magnum opus, habeas corpus, Inceptus Nolanus overratus. Magister mentium! Magister mentium! Magister mentium!” Stan spoke less eloquent Latin than Ford, but thankfully it was enough to get him into the mindscape. Ford caught Stan as he fell asleep, propping him up against Dipper’s bed, before turning to Mabel. The way she gripped her blanket and squeezed her eyes shut made Ford sick to his stomach, a list of the terrible things Bill could be doing to her playing in his head. He thanked his lucky stars that she wasn't as open to possession as Dipper was, that she'd never made a deal with Bill and knew not to. Ford took a deep breath, placed a hand on her forehead, and recited the incantation one last time.

Riley O'Connell flew through the woods as fast as they could, hoping against hope that they were going in the right direction. “What the hell kind of paranormal bullshit is attacking those kids?” She muttered, staring at the cryptic journal page. “If ghosts and unicorns are apparently real, what else is?” Truth be told, Riley probably didn’t want to know exactly what all was possible. She wasn’t used to it, having grown up in the middle of San Francisco. To think that she was now a supernatural creature herself was still hard to come to terms with. Regardless, she was fueled by a single drive, a mantra that oversaw every thought in her… well it wouldn't really be a brain now, she didn't think... and that mantra was “Make it up to those poor kids. You owe them that much and more.” She still remembered the sting of tears in her eyes, her foot slamming on the brakes and the horrible sound of metal colliding with metal, but she wasn't bitter over her own death. She'd known from the moment she'd woken up, still in her car as it was being towed to a junkyard, that she was responsible for the deaths of two people. And Riley was willing to do anything to set things right again.

Eventually, Riley came to a clearing that looked like it could be the right place. “Alright, let's see what the weird old guy has to say about this… Sing an ancient incantation of the deep voiced druids of old?” Riley sighed, rubbing her temples. “This guy is lucky I'm transgender as shit.” She muttered and cleared her throat, dropping her voice down to her natural low register and beginning the incantation. To her surprise, some sort of magical temple rose from the ground. The massive stone pillars reminded Riley of a familiar celestial calendar. “So… Stonehenge was built by fucking unicorns, huh?” She mumbled, floating through the doors, keeping her eyes peeled for any unicorns.

“Halt!” A nasally voice spoke from the darkness. “My name is Celestebellebethabelle, last of my kind. We unicorns only give out hair to those who are pure of heart, and I don't even have to look at you to know that you'd best be on your way, ghost!” A sky blue unicorn with a rainbow mane (missing a rather large chunk of hair already) stepped out of the darkness.

“How did you know I was looking for hair? Wait, nevermind, don't answer that.” Riley huffed. “And I know I'm not pure of heart, lady. I'm… responsible for the deaths of two people. But listen, apparently the kids of the people I accidentally killed need your hair or else the world will end… somehow. So give me some, or I’m taking it.”

“How do you figure that?” The unicorn asked, tilting her head to one side.

“Look, I don't fucking know! I'm still new to this whole supernatural thing, alright? All I know is that the Illuminati triangle attacked some kids and now their grandpa needs your hair.” Riley exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air. “So can you spare a chunk just this once? I promise I'll bring back someone pure of heart in the morning if it's that important, but right now I don't want to add a couple billion people to the list of tragedies I'm responsible for.” She said, reaching for the unicorn’s mane.

Suddenly, the entire world shifted, and Riley was being pulled into the unicorn, possessing Celestebellebethabelle. Riley’s fuzzy dice fell to the ground with a soft _thump._

“Holy _shit!_ ” Riley yelled, jumping back and awkwardly tripping over her new hind legs. “I didn't know I could even _do_ that!” She spun around in a circle, surveying her surroundings. “Well… I guess that's one way to get some unicorn hair. Let's bring fucking Rainbow Dash here back to the weird cabin in the woods.” She said to herself, picking up the journal page between her teeth, scooping up her furry dice with her horn, and galloping back towards the Mystery Shack.

Ford trudged through Mabel’s mindscape, a dense forest that Ford could tell was usually brightly colored, but right now was an ugly mixture of moss greens and black, dead wood. Clown faces melted into the dead grass, butterflies fluttered towards any minute source of light, but were immediately consumed by eerie purple flames. Giant unicorns towered above the bare treetops, sneering and pawing at the ground, pushing down the trees like they were nothing. Ford had certainly seen worse, but the fact that this was _Mabel’s_ mindscape made him worry. There were no clearly marked doorways, no paths to follow, Ford was effectively lost. _This is Mabel’s mindscape, Ford, you have to think like Mabel._ He thought, fighting against the metal plate in his head that threatened to pull himself out of Mabel’s mindscape any second. _If I was Mabel, how would I organize my thoughts?_ Ford stared at his surroundings, taking in the misshapen fairy tale creatures. “I wish I had some sort of map…” Ford thought aloud, and a brightly colored map materialized in front of him, fluttering to the forest floor. “Well… that was easy. Thanks, Mabel.” Ford said, bending down and picking up the map, inspecting it. Mabel’s mindscape appeared to be arranged in differently colored sections. _If I can just get a better vantage point, I might be able to get my bearings,_ Ford thought to himself. He turned to a nearby tree, focusing on making an elevator form underneath his feet, carrying him to the top. Ford stared out at the landscape in front of him. A galaxy of stars fell towards an area of Mabel’s mindscape, far, far away from where Ford was now. In another corner of her mindscape, a deep blue one covered in a stormy sea, Ford could make out a few people, mostly young boys around Mabel’s age.

In the center of Mabel’s mindscape, in what appeared to be a dead zone, a graveyard, Ford could barely make out a bright yellow triangle.

He furrowed his brow. They were so far away, and Ford could barely move. But he had to get to Mabel, he had to save her. Concentrating, taking a deep breath and focusing on one of the giant unicorns, Ford willed a bridle into existence, wrapping it around the unicorn and gripping the rope tightly, bracing himself for when the unicorn took off running.

Ford felt the wind in his face, heard the crunch of trees under hooves, and kept his eyes trained on Mabel and Bill.

_Don’t worry, Mabel._

_I’m coming for you._

Stan gasped as he materialized in Dipper’s mindscape, surrounded by a dense forest of burning pine trees. There were no doorways, but thankfully there was a clearly marked path, with sign markers to help Stan get his bearings. Stan followed the signs pointing to where Dipper’s dreams were, breaking into a sprint and being careful to avoid the white hot flames around him. The path twisted and turned, and glowing embers burned at Stan’s feet, but he pressed forwards, thankful that the fire hadn’t obscured any of the signs yet.

The burning forest only got worse the closer Stan got to Dipper’s dreams. Pine trees faded into ashes and ashes faded into briar bushes and honey locust trees, overgrown out onto the path, blocking Stan’s way. The trees were fresh, untouched by the surrounding wildfire, Stan noted. Dipper could have easily made them, something in the back of Stan’s mind told him that Dipper could handle himself just fine in the mindscape, that he was a fighter through and through. He was a Pines man, after all. _Still… might be a good idea to figure out what I’m getting into…_ Stan thought to himself. Stan furrowed his brow, concentrating on forming a tiny flying hearing aid.

“Go ahead, find Dipper.” He told it, sending it through the brambles. He took a deep breath, forming a machete in his hand, and began hacking his way through the thorns. The hearing aid sparkled and crackled to life, relaying anything it heard to Stan in real time.

_The cavalry's comin’, kid. Don’t worry._

Mabel Pines was angry beyond all reason. She was pressed against the back of a gravestone, eighties dream boys Xyler and Craz between her and Bill, her fist forming a kitten head.

“Get out of my head, you evil trash Dorito!” Mabel screamed. “What do you want from me?!”

“Relax, Shooting Star! I just wanna talk!” Bill said, snapping his fingers and sending Xyler and Craz up in flames. “That’s better. _So_ , I hear your uncle’s back in town, yeah?”

“What’s it to you?!” She screamed, launching the kitten fist towards Bill. “Get out of here or I’m gonna kick your butt! I’m not scared of you!”

“ _HA!_ There’s your first mistake, Shooting Star!” Bill laughed, closing his eye and flicking the kitten fist away like it was nothing. “You know, old Fordsy and I go _way_ back. But I guess he never told you about that, did he? Seems to me like he doesn’t like you very much. I mean, he tells Dipper _lots of things._ ”

“I don’t care! I’m not gonna make a deal with you!” Mabel shouted, launching a barrage of kitten fists at Bill. “And Grunkle Ford loves me!”

Bill’s eye narrowed, and he flashed red for a brief moment, dodging the kitten fists. “Please, that three dimensional meatsack doesn’t ‘love’ anything! And I should know, I’m the near omnipotent being of pure energy Sixer decided to trust with the tangled mass of gray matter and neurons you humans call a brain!”

“Wait--! He… he made a deal with _you_?” Mabel asked. “Dipper told me you used to be friends, but…”

“Holy Me, kid, can’t you read?” Bill laughed, flashing an image of the third journal. “Yeah, when someone writes ‘Perfect gentleman, couldn’t trust him more!’ and then scribbles it out and splatters the page with human blood, that’s a pretty good indication that we used to be the _best_ of pals! Look, the point is, I know _everything_ about old Fordsy. And let me tell you, none of it’s good!”

“I don’t believe you, Grunkle Ford is a _good_ person! What would you know about being good, anyways?” Mabel said as she reloaded her kitten fists, backing away from Bill.

“Don’t believe me, eh, Shooting Star?” Bill laughed. “Look, kid, I _like_ you, so I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. There is no _good_ or _bad_. It’s all relative, right? The second rate physicist you call your uncle _sucks_ at being a hero, but hey, it’s better than anything else your pathetic dimension has to offer.”

“J-just cut to the chase, what do you want? Why are you in my head? _How_ are you in my head?”

“Like I said, I just want to talk!” Bill said. “Look, Mr. Brainiac over there can’t do _anything_ to stop me, the only thing he’s got going for him is his pathetic family, and he can’t even do that right! I mean, look at what happened to Old Fezy. Stanley, right? Or was it Hal? Steve? Andrew? Who cares, anyways? Certainly not his own brother.”

“They made up, Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford love each other. They love their family! You wouldn’t understand what love is, you’re _evil_!”

“Pfft, love is just a byproduct of your pathetic human need to procreate.” Bill scoffed. “A series of chemical reactions you meatsacks are slaves to! Sure, _some_ of you manage to get out of it, but it’s not nearly enough to redeem your worthless species. Speaking of _worthless_ … Thanks to Fordsy, Stanley couldn’t get one of those worthless and unfulfilling human jobs or a house on his own for _decades_. I watched him live on the streets like an animal, selling _anything_ to keep that pitiful sack of meat he calls a body functioning. He nearly gave up on _that_ idea, though!” Bill laughed, showing Mabel an image of Stan cowering in an alley, bloody and beaten, holding a rusty switchblade to his neck. “That loser was _nothing_ without Ford! And did he ever once think about Fezy? About that dear, sweet, twin brother of his? Nope! He sure didn’t, he was too busy working for _me._ And guess what, Shooting Star?”

“...What?” Mabel took a step backwards, trying to shake the image of Stan from her head.

Bill’s eye narrowed, a happy sort of squint that made something hard and cold settle in the pit of Mabel’s stomach. “The same thing’s gonna happen to you! I’ve been manipulating human history since your pathetic species evolved in the first place, I can make your life a living hell without you even knowing I exist! I wonder how long you would last out there on your own without your pathetic family?”

“Shut up!” Mabel screamed, trying to hide the tears in her eyes.

“ _But…_ If you strike a deal with me, you won’t _ever_ have to be on your own.” Bill said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a giant unicorn racing towards them, Ford in tow. “Not like how old Stanley was after high school. And to think…” If Bill had a mouth he’d be smirking. “All _that_ only happened because _I_ messed with one _teeny_ little science project! You humans are so _dramatic_. I orchestrated every horrible moment of your pathetic uncle’s existences. I can do the same to you if you cross me, so whaddya say, Shooting Star?” Bill’s eye widened, and he reached out his hand, a bright blue flame extending from his palm. “Wanna make a deal?”

Mabel’s kitten fist disappeared, her trembling hand slowly extending towards Bill’s flaming blue one, tears streaming down her face.

“ _YOU. DID. **WHAT**_.” A loud, booming voice overpowered everything in Mabel’s mindscape, causing the ground itself to shake. Suddenly, Mabel felt herself being pushed back, away from Bill. She looked up to see a giant unicorn galloping past her, and Stanford Pines standing tall between her and Bill.

“Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to _show up_!” Bill laughed.

“Cut the crap, Cipher. I heard everything!” Ford shouted, keeping one hand on Mabel, the other clenched into a fist. “You… **_You_** …”

“That’s right, it was me! In the gym, with a rogue time traveler I possessed a few millennia ahead!” Bill laughed. “For all your smarts you couldn’t figure out that _maybe_ the guy who used you to build a polydimensional metavortex _might_ want a say in whether or not you get to figure out where the portal led before you were _supposed to_!”

“Bill! I’m gonna kick your ASS!” Ford shouted, covering Mabel’s ears as he did so.

“And how are you going to do **_that._** You can barely move!” Bill laughed.

“Like this!” Mabel shouted, willing a glittering hot pink laser cannon into existence and shooting directly for Bill’s eye.

Bill dodged easily, and laughed again. “You’ll have to do better than that, Shooting Star!”

“Try this on for size!” Ford shouted, pushing Mabel back as far as he could, sending her to the other side of her mindscape, and launched his attack.

Thousands of inky black tentacles, thorn covered vines and monstrous hands shot towards Bill in an instant. Horrifying monsters towered over them and lunged at Bill, claws spread and ready to kill. Bill took a few hits, but it was impossible for anything here to cause him lasting damage. “Oh, gee, looks like the old _dog_ learned a few new tricks! Let me guess, these are all things you saw on the other side of the portal? Tsk, tsk, if it’s so _awful_ over there, why’d you _build it in the first place_?”

Ford raised his hands, setting the landscape ablaze, stalagmites rising from the ground, aiming for Bill. Something shifted, Ford felt the pull of the metal plate weaken, but he paid the sensation no heed. He sent down globs of molten rock next, not bothering to notice if they hit or not.

“Oh, come on, is that the best you can do?” Bill taunted. “Come on, _Sixer_ , show me what you got!”

Dipper hunched in on himself, willing more briars and rosebushes into existence, filling in the cracks of the wall of honey locust trees he’d created.

His mindscape was on fire.

Dipper took short, panicked breaths. The mindscape wasn’t supposed to be on fire. At least, he didn’t think. Bill floated just outside the shield Dipper had created for himself, laughing at him, taunting him. He had to think of something quick to protect himself, but all he could manage to do was create more flame. He didn’t notice the tiny hearing aid floating off to the side of his fortress.

“Yeesh, kid. You’re pathetic.” Bill said, twirling his cane. “You can’t keep this up forever.”

“Go away.” Dipper spat. “Go away before I defeat you like I did last time!”

“Yeah, sure, _Pine Tree_. Cause you _aren’t_ scared out of your wits right now.” Bill said. “You think I didn’t see your little _episode_ down in Ford’s study? You nearly wiped his memories, kid! Gotta hand it to you, if it hadn’t been for that metal plate in his head, you’d have taken him out before I even got to your pathetic dimension! Ha, ha! Can you imagine, you trying your best to keep that rift safe while the _only_ person who knew what he was doing became a babbling amnesiac? No wonder he doesn’t think you can handle yourself. How _stupid_ can you be?” Bill’s voice leaked through the trees, Dipper could see his glowing form through the cracks in his wall.

Dipper shook, his knees pulled up to his chest and his head in his hands. He tried taking deep breaths, causing himself to hyperventilate. The flames around him only grew brighter, licking at the wall he’d created, threatening to bring it down as well. Dipper tried making more thorns, to put more distance between him and Bill, to attack him to do _something_. The tiny space he’d made for himself shrunk further, thorns from the honey locust trees and rose bushes threatening to pierce his skin. Dipper managed to throw a haphazardly aimed barrage of thorns towards Bill, but not a single hit landed.

“You’re no hero, kid. You can’t save yourself, you can’t save your uncle, you couldn’t even save your _parents_. I mean, geez, kid, how hard is it to call an ambulance? Just a few minutes earlier and they could have survived.” Bill taunted, laughing.

“ _Leave me alone!”_ Dipper screamed, his voice cracking and going hoarse.

“You _are_ alone, kid!” Bill laughed. “Not even Ford came to save you, I can see where he is! He’s helping Mabel now, he doesn’t care about you one bit! No one does!”

Dipper squeezed his eyes shut, trying to wake up, trying to banish Bill from his mind, trying to think of something to attack him with.

“Not even Mabel cares about you anymore, not really.” Bill said. “I mean, you basically killed your parents, who would like you after that? Certainly not your sister, she thinks you’re a loser. She’s your _only_ friend, but you’re far from being hers. After all, you’ve sacrificed so much for her but she’ll never acknowledge any of it after what you’ve done!”

The flames roared around Dipper, around the fortress he’d created for himself, drowning out the sound of his sobs. And yet… somehow, the fire didn’t mask the sound of a machete hacking its way through the brambles. “ _DIPPER_! Dipper, can you hear me?” Stan’s familiar, gruff voice echoed throughout the mindscape.

“Grunkle… Stan?” Dipper choked out, sniffling. He stood up, willing the thorny trees and briars to shrivel and die, clearing a path for Stan.

Stan dropped his machete and ran to Dipper, scooping him up in his big arms. “Dipper, I’m here, you’re _not_ alone.” He said. “I heard everything, you’re not alone, no one blames you for Sherman and Alexandria… Ford can barely _move_ in here, he sent me to save you ‘cause he knew I’d be faster... You have to wake up, we have to get the barrier sealed again.”

“I-I _can’t_ , I’ve tried!” Dipper stammered out, clinging to Stan for dear life.

“You _can_ , Dipper, you’re the smartest person I’ve met, you’ve even got more sense than Ford! You can do anything, I know you can.” Stan set Dipper down and kneeled down to look in his eyes. “Count to ten, and then open your eyes, Dipper. Wake up.”

Dipper took a deep breath, clenching his fists. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.”

Nothing happened. They were still in the mindscape, surrounded by thorns and fire.

“Try again, Dipper. Come on, you can do it. I know you can.” Stan said, leaning down and putting a hand on Dipper’s shoulder, mimicking Ford.

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten… One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.” Dipper repeated, growing more frantic. “I _can’t_! I don’t know what to do, s-something’s _wrong_!”

“It’s okay! L-Lets think of something, alright kiddo?” Stan said, wracking his brain for some instruction Ford might have given him. _Why was it so easy for me to wake up? Why can’t Dipper wake up?! Wait… Ford said that Dipper had made a deal before… that he was more prone to possession than Mabel was because of that…_ “We’ve got to get Bill out of here first, okay? Maybe that’s it.” He said. “Where is he?”

“Looking for me, Stan? Too bad you woke up earlier, I thought we were taking a nice little stroll down memory lane.” Bill’s voice carried through the brambles, his image little more than a glowing yellow light between the cracks in the trees.

“Yeah, back off, demon.” Stan spat. “Get out of my nephew’s brain before I kick your a-- butt. Dipper, can you get these thorns outta here so I can punch this a-- jerk in the face?”

“Oh sure, get ol’ Pine Tree over there to lower his defenses. _That’ll_ work.” Bill laughed. “You really are just a dumb version of Stanford, aren’t you?”

Dipper scowled, before willing the honey locust trees and briar bushes around them to dissipate. “ _No one_ talks that way about my uncle!” He shouted, the flames in his mindscape dying down a little as he did so.

“Wait.” Stan said, holding up a hand. “Wait, wait, wait. _That’s_ Bill Cipher?” He asked, pointing at the triangular demon before him. “That’s the big bad demon guy who wants to end the world?”

“Yes?” Dipper said, raising an eyebrow.

 “Okay,” Stan said, trying to hold back laughter. “Okay, I had a couple ideas of what you looked like, and I’m not gonna lie, about three of them were different versions of the kid’s gym teacher in a suit, but a yellow triangle with a top hat?” Stan snorted, unable to contain his laughter any longer. “You’re actually a fucking _tortilla chip_!” He slapped his knee, willing a wall into existence to support himself. “I mean, come on, I read Ford’s spooky journals an’ everything but I just thought the illuminati thing was your symbol or something holy _shit_ you’re actually just a triangle! No wonder Ford trusted you at first, you look about as threatening as a Chihuahua!”

Bill flashed red, his eye turning black and inverting on itself, a red ring of fire erupting from his palms. “ ** _EAT NIGHTMARES, FEZ!_** ” He yelled, willing about a dozen Filbricks into existence.

Stan tensed, shifting his feet into a fighting stance as twelve versions of Filbrick Pines came at him at once. Concentrating, Stan willed eleven copies of himself into existence. They were younger, with broad shoulders, long hair, and plenty of muscle to go around. “You think _this_ guy can stop me? Ha!” He screamed before rushing into the brawl with his dream counterparts, using his bare fists, feeling a satisfying _crunch_ as his knuckles collided with a Filbrick’s nose. “I put up with this asshole for years, but if you think I’m gonna let _any_ version of him _near_ my family, you’ve got another thing coming!”

“Oh, is that so, Fez?” Bill laughed. “Well _here_! Try this version on, I think it suits you!” He said, snapping his fingers. The other Filbricks and Stanleys disappeared in a puff of smoke. When the dust cleared, Stan found himself staring at the world through darkened glasses, wearing a cheap yellow plaid suit and a fedora. Stan didn’t have to look in a mirror to know that he’d turned into his father… _literally_. It was a disturbing, sickening feeling, his hands now heavy and calloused, his cleft chin clean shaven beneath a small handlebar mustache, his mouth twisted into a permanent frown. “Oh man, I didn’t even have to change that much!” Bill taunted, laughing.

Stan clenched his trembling fists, concentrating on returning to his usual self. “Okay, fuck you for messing with my brother, fuck you for messing with my niece and nephew, and most of all? Fuck. You. For trying that bullshit on me.” He said, Filbrick’s form peeling off of his skin like old wallpaper. “I’m _not_ my father. I’m not Stanford. _I am Stanley Pines_.” He said, launching himself at Bill, willing brass knuckles to form around his hands. “And I'm _always_ gonna be there for these kids! They'll never be able to get rid of me, I'll never leave them, not till the day they die!” He screamed, aiming a punch right for Bill’s eye. Dipper saw Bill preparing another attack, a large fireball in the palm of the demon’s hand, and gasped.

The entire world shifted, and Stanley fizzled back into his body, fully awake.

Dipper’s eyes snapped open, clutching at his chest in the dark, gasping for air. “G-Grunkle S-Stan?” He stammered. “I did it! I woke up!”

“Yeah, I told you you could do it!” Stan cheered, tears welling up in his eyes. He paused, surveying the room, noticing a bright blue unicorn standing in the corner of the room, pacing near Ford and Mabel. “Dipper… what’s with the unicorn?” He whispered, taking note of the attic door that seemed to have been kicked down by the unicorn.

“That’s perfect! We need its hair to seal the barrier!” Dipper exclaimed, hopping down from the bed, grabbing the attention of the unicorn… that had a pair of fuzzy dice hanging from her horn?

“Oh, god, you guys are awake!” The unicorn said. “Listen, my name is Riley, I’m a ghost that is possessing this unicorn apparently, and this guy right here,” Riley gestured to Ford’s sleeping form. “Told me that the fate of the world is at stake and you guys need unicorn hair for some reason. Except now I’m stuck in this thing? And he’s bleeding and asleep and he’s not waking up.”

Dipper grabbed a flashlight from his nightstand, inspecting Ford’s wound, causing Stan to wince at the sight of it. It had gotten worse since the last time Stan had seen it, he could see the edge of the metal plate poking through the skin of Ford’s scalp.

“Stan! Go with Riley and glue the unicorn hair around the house! It’s the only way to stop Bill! And bring me the memory gun when you’re done.” Dipper said, inspecting Ford’s wound.

“Wait, but what about Ford? What’s so important about that metal pla--” Stan was cut off by Dipper.

“Horses can’t walk down stairs, I’m pretty sure unicorns work the same way, you’re the only one strong enough to get Riley down to the front door! Ford’s in trouble, just _go_! Trust me, I can handle this!” Dipper shouted, grabbing his backpack full of hiking supplies, and tearing through Mabel’s crafts box, searching for a needle and thread, steeling his nerves for what he was going to have to do next. He tossed a tube of Mabel’s crazy glue to Stan.

Stan nodded, catching the glue. “Alright, do what you gotta do, kid. I believe in you.” He said, before turning to Riley. “Alright unicorn-ghost whatever thing, we’ve got a barrier to seal.”

Dipper dug through his backpack, taking out a box of waterproof matches and an alcohol pad. Gripping his flashlight between his teeth, he struck a match, running a curved needle through the flame first, before wiping down the thread with the alcohol pad. _Come on, Dipper. You can do this, you’ve read about how to do this, it’s just like sewing your Halloween costumes._ He told himself, threading the needle and turning Ford over so he could get a better look at the wound on his head. Ford twitched, and the wound opened further, the metal plate slipping from beneath his skin, oozing blood down Ford’s face. Taking deep breaths, trying to steady his shaking hands, Dipper slowly pushed the metal plate, a tiny square with a sigil emblazoned on the side, Dipper noticed, back underneath Ford’s skin, wincing and swallowing his gag reflex when he saw Ford’s skin warp above the plate. _Come on, if you don’t do this Ford could get possessed again, you could lose him **forever**. _ Dipper told himself, taking the needle in his hand and making the first stitch. _Come on, close to the center, just one, tie it off, you’ve read about how to do this Dipper, just do it_ , _if you can’t, nobody will._ Dipper thought to himself, before making the second stitch. Then the third, this one on the other side of the first, continuing the pattern until he’d closed up the wound on Ford’s head with ten messy stitches.

“ _BILL!_ ” Ford shouted. He was still in Mabel’s mindscape, but he was completely immobilized. It took every ounce of concentration he had to keep himself in the mindscape, to prevent the metal plate in his head from pulling him back into reality before he could wake Mabel. He sent another attack Bill’s way, a barrage of bright blue lasers that was easily dodged.

“Oh come on, _freak_!” Bill laughed. “That one wasn’t even close!”

Ford stared down at his hand for a split second, clenching his fist, before the rage in his heart reached a boiling point, and he unleashed everything he had towards the demon. Monsters, alien plants, the forms of every terrifying god he’d faced, _everything_ Ford had ever experienced, he threw at Bill now, neither of them moving, fixed points in Mabel’s mindscape.

“Hm… looks like Pine Tree got to you first.” Bill said, snapping his fingers and sending everything up in a puff of smoke. “Way to go, Sixer. You nearly got everyone killed, _again_! I’ve really gotta hand it to you, I’ve never met someone so _bad_ at being a hero, seems like every time you try you wind up falling right into my trap! I mean, holy _me_ , a twelve year old kid had to save you this time around!”

Ford struggled against the metal plate, conjuring a letter and sending it to Mabel’s location, telling her to wake up as soon as possible. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her in the distance, trying to get back to him, back to where _Bill was, I can’t let him hurt anyone else in my family_. He held her back, willing a wall of pillows into existence, surrounding her, keeping her safe.

“You really scared her with that stunt you pulled, you know.” Bill said, shrugging. “Just a heads up. Anyways, enjoy being a bachelor again, Sixer!” He said, before setting the graveyard around them ablaze and disappearing in a flash of light, laughing all the while.

 _“Mabel!_ _Great Uncle Ford!_ ” Dipper’s voice echoed through the mindscape. Ford willed the flames to die down, tidying up the graveyard and releasing Mabel from her pillow sanctuary.

Mabel was at Ford’s side in seconds. “Grunkle Ford, are you alright?! How did Bill even get past the barrier? Was it the tree?” She said, speaking entirely too fast.

Ford clenched his fist, trying to hide his anger for Mabel’s sake, to hide the way it twitched and clawed at his insides and made him squirm. “Mabel, I need you to wake up, before Dipper decides to try and come in after us.” He said, still struggling against the pull of the metal plate. “I’m not leaving until I’m sure you’re safe and awake.”

“Awake? I just have to wake up? But what if Bill comes back?”

“It’ll be--” Ford gasped, the metal plate’s pull was getting stronger, he could snap out of Mabel’s mindscape any minute. “It’ll be fine, sweetie, I promise.” He said. “Please, just wake up, Mabel. Trust me, it’ll all be alright.”

“ _Mabel! Come on, come on, wake up!_ ” Dipper called from the waking world.

“O-okay… i-if you say so…” Mabel said.

Mabel woke in a panic, gasping for air, and clinging to her blanket, whimpering, “Dad? D-dad!” Her bleary eyes found a figure, scruffy haired with a strong chin, and through her sleepy haze clung to him for dear life.

Ford stiffened when Mabel wrapped her arms around his torso, tears falling from her face and clearly mistaking him for her father. Dipper stood at the edge of the bed, flashlight dangling from bloody hands, dumbstruck, angry that Bill had dared hurt Mabel but too afraid to speak. At least now she could pretend their father was alive, that everything was normal for just a little longer.

Mabel sniffled, her voice barely above a whisper, “I had a bad dream, Dad… will you meow me to sleep?”

Ford paused, his heart crumbling, and slowly wrapped his arms around Mabel. “...M-- Meow…” He stammered. “...Meow… M-Meow… Meow…” Ford held her close, curling around her protectively, trembling with rage and guilt, a cavern opening in his heart, his head swept away in the chaos of what had happened.

Mabel softly meowed to herself, imagining kittens instead of nightmares like her father had showed her when she was small, until she was too exhausted to continue, passing out in Ford’s arms.

The Shack was engulfed in a dome of familiar blue light, sigils and symbols dancing in the barrier before dissipating. The barrier had been repaired. Bill wouldn’t be coming back tonight.

Ford forced himself to move slowly, he felt like he could break any second, like he could break anything and everything in his path if he made a wrong move, and tucked Mabel back into bed. Slowly, Ford stood up, noting the blood drying on his cheek, on his sweater, on his coat, matching the blood on Dipper’s hands.

“What happened?” Dipper asked, anger in his voice. “What did Bill _do_ to my sister?”

Ford was silent, raising a hand to the wound on his hand, feeling the haphazard stitches. “D-Dipper… Did you--?” Ford took a shaky breath, he knew what could have happened if the metal plate had fallen out. He knew what could have happened if Bill had possessed him while he was in Mabel’s mindscape… he could have been trapped forever, he knew that when he’d first taken the plunge into Stan’s mind. “Dipper… you saved my life.” Ford said, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around Dipper. “Y-You saved my life.”

Dipper wrapped his arms around Ford in return, shaking, “A-are you sure I did it right? Should w-w-we take you to the hospital?”

“It doesn’t m-matter if you did it r-right.” Ford said. “All that m-matters is that t-the wound is c-closed, that the metal plate is still in there. Don’t worry about a h-hospital, if I have any problems I can j-just re-stitch them. I m-managed to put the plate in m-myself in the first place, I can handle a few stitches…” Ford held Dipper close, afraid of what would happen if he let go.

Dipper finally allowed himself to cry, he had been strong for long enough, it was finally safe for him to break down his own barriers. “I-I-I was so s-s-scared I was g-g-gonna lose you… I c-couldn’t do _a-anything_ , it’s m-my f-fault they’re g-gone I didn’t c-call an ambulance and now M-Mabel hates me and y-y-you ha-hate me t-too and… and…” Dipper sobbed, his hands shaking, Ford’s blood coagulating on his skin.

“Dipper, Mabel loves you… _I_ love you, y-you’re…” Ford’s voice cracked. “You’re a g-great kid, you’re the most t-trustworthy p-person I know, Dipper. Whatever B-Bill said to you, whatever he d-did, he was _lying_ I s-swear it. What happened to your parents… it wasn’t your f-fault, Dipper.”

“I'm so _sorry_.” Dipper sobbed, digging his nails into Ford's coat. “I'm sorry for what he did to you, too.”

Ford froze. He didn't speak, he didn't move, he didn't even breathe.

“I-It wasn't y-your fault either…” Dipper stammered.

Ford forced himself to swallow a lump in his throat, to blink back the shocked tears in his eyes. He squeezed Dipper tightly, trembling and trying not to break down any more than he already had. “...W-We should go check on the others…” He said, quietly, his voice hoarse, placing a hand on the back of Dipper’s head.

Dipper slowly led Ford down the stairs, afraid of what might be down there if the barrier wasn't sealed properly. “S-So there’s this g-ghost downstairs… Possessing a unicorn. You wouldn’t… know anything about that… would you?”

“Ah, er… well…” Ford stammered. “I… don’t think she’s hostile… But _that_ story is probably one for the morning, it’s… it’s been a long night for everyone.”

“If you say so… But I don't know if I'll be able to go back to sleep now.”

“Oh, no, sleep is definitely not coming for me either.” Ford said. “After this I am downing three cups of coffee and laying down on the couch with Fi--” Ford stopped short. “W-with… F-Fidd--” His breath hitched, and Ford pinched the bridge of his nose, using his hand to hide his face.

“...W-What happened? Is he hurt?” Dipper asked, gripping Ford’s hand.

“N-No, he… W-We won’t… be _together_ f-for much longer…” A tear slid down Ford’s face. “I-I should check on him, t-though…” Ford said, letting go of Dipper’s hand and fidgeting with his coat. “Just… go find Stan, okay? T-the barrier should be up, I saw it, I’ll… I’ll be b-back.” Ford stammered, heading into the living room.

Dipper nodded, watching Ford leave before rushing out the door. “Stan?! Grunkle Stan are you out here?” He called.

“Yeah, kid. I’m right here.” Stan said. He was standing out by the fake totem pole, leaning against it and watching Riley trying (and failing) to get out of the unicorn’s body. “...So, did that blue light dome thing mean that it worked?”

“Uh… yeah. Yeah, the blue thing means it worked.” Dipper said. “...So do you know why there’s a ghost helping us? Ford wouldn’t say anything about it…”

“Once I get out of this dam-- darn horse, I think I can probably explain, unless Zak Bagans in there tries to exorcise me first, and honestly he just might.” Riley said, censoring herself for Dipper’s sake. “Just let me-- Let me try…” Riley spun around, trying to get out of Celestebellebethabelle’s body.

“Do you know what you’re doing...?” Dipper asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I didn’t even know I _could_ possess stuff until like, maybe fifteen minutes ago! I’m fairly new to this whole… ghost thing.” She said. “And I’m _definitely_ not used to this whole unicorn business. These guys are a-- _jerks_. And they smell like soggy pancakes, if that makes any sense.” She said. “Hang on, lemme try running headfirst into this tree.” She said.

“...Oddly enough, this isn’t the worst or the weirdest thing I’ve seen tonight.” Stan said.

Riley charged into the tree and almost got her horn stuck in the trunk, “OW, FU--dge!” She pried herself away from the tree and sighed. “So… Why is the Illuminati trying to take you out with some sort of… spooky thing? Is there some kind of information you know that you aren’t supposed to?”

“Oh, you noticed that the spooky demon looks flipping ridiculous, too?” Stan said.

“He’s… a dream demon who kinda wants to end the world. Unicorn hair keeps him out though.” Dipper said, rubbing his arm. “He’s _probably_ not a part of the Illuminati. And how did _you_ know he was in the house? I know my uncle, he wouldn’t just trust a random ghost with the fate of the world.”

“Well… I, uh…” Riley faltered, pulling Celestebellebethabelle’s horn out of the tree trunk. “Look… I… I think I should probably wait to tell you the whole story until your sister is here too, at least…” She said, her voice solemn. “For now… I’ll just say that I have some serious junk to talk to you guys about. “

“Uh… yeah, sure, I guess we can hold off.” Dipper said, furrowing his brow. Something wasn’t right about this.

Stan frowned, wrapping an arm around Dipper’s shoulders. “...You’re alright, right? That guy’s pretty messed up…”

“...I’m fine.”

Ford ran his fingertips through his hair, careful not to ruin any of the stitches Dipper had made. Taking a deep breath, keeping one hand gripping the fabric of his trench coat, he forced himself to walk into the living room, eyes lowered. “F-Fiddleford? Are… Are you alright?”

Fiddleford was silent, arms crossed, hunched over a suitcase. He took a quick, deep breath before speaking. “We’re through, Stanford. I’m leavin’ you.” He said. Ford caught a glimpse of the memory gun, hidden underneath an old shirt, the light bulb sticking out of the suitcase.

“Fidds please don’t do this.” Stanford was shaking, cautiously approaching Fiddleford. “Please, I don’t want to see you hurt yourself like last time. P-please, y-you d-don’t have to stay with me… y-you can stay wi-with Stanley, or w-with T-Tate, or I-I’ll g-go just… Please don’t _l-leave_. D-do-don’t do this t-to yourse-self.”

“Stanford, you hornswoggling, salt licking, _bastard_. You _lied_ to me! You let that-- that _demon_ into your mind, you communed with a _devil_ , Stanford! And you had the _nerve_ to drag me into it!” Fiddleford’s face was red with anger. “What’s worse you _kept this from me_ , I asked you time and time again what’d happened to me and you told me! You told me an’ yet you _conveniently_ forgot to mention _Bill Cipher_.”

“I-I’m _s-sorry_ I didn’t want to _h-hurt_ you a-again.” Ford pleaded. “Please, even if you l-leave me I-I can’t l-lose you like that again.” Tears began to pool in his eyes. “I was j-just trying to pro-protect you.”

“Oh, you won’t have to worry ‘bout me _none_.” Fiddleford spat, grabbing the memory gun from the suitcase. “I’m takin’ this with me, but I won’t _never_ forget what you’ve _done_ , Stanford. If I ever _did_ , I’d just get _tricked_ by you again.” Fiddleford slammed the suitcase, one of Stan’s old ones, he’d have to return it later, and stormed over to Stanford.

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t w-want to break your _heart_ ,” Ford stammered, backing away, clutching his coat tighter around himself.

“You lying bastard!” Fiddleford was far too upset to censor himself. “When did you _ever_ care about my heart?! When did you _ever_ care about me?! You _used_ me, you just wanted that _damn_ portal open! It’s your own damn fault you fell through, you didn’t _listen_ to your _supposed_ ‘lover’ when you had the chance! I’ll _swear by it_ , Stanford Pines: you care more about that _ridiculous filthy trench coat_ than you _ever_ did about--” Fiddleford stopped short, an accusing finger pointed at Stanford. Fiddleford’s brow scrunched, something clicking in his brain, he _remembered_ that coat, like it was _yesterday_.

He’d had to break up with Stanford after graduating from college. They were both going in different directions, and neither Fiddleford nor Stanford were ever one for long distance relationships. Still, it felt wrong to leave Stanford brokenhearted and alone. And Oregon _was_ much colder in the winter… So Fiddleford saved up some money, a sum of nearly one hundred dollars, and on the day of their graduation ceremony, Fiddleford had presented his ex with a new trench coat. At first, Ford had refused, on the grounds that the coat was too expensive, but Fiddleford had _insisted_. As something to remember him by. A few short years later, after Fiddleford had moved on and settled down, he’d received a call from Stanford, asking if he’d be willing to come up to Gravity Falls to work on the portal. When he arrived, Fiddleford was more than surprised to find that Stanford still wore the coat Fiddleford had given him, and didn’t seem to take it off very often. Fiddleford remembered crying into the shoulders of that coat after the divorce, he remembered draping the coat around his exhausted lover’s shoulders after a long night in the lab. He remembered Stanford cradling his prone body for what seemed like _hours_ after Fiddleford fell through the portal, the fabric of that coat the only thing grounding him to this plane of reality, he remembered the way Ford guarded the coat now.

He’d kept that coat through thirty years of hell itself.

It was like a second skin to Ford.

A tear slid down Fiddleford’s face.

“...Stanford?” Fiddleford asked softly, calmly. Ford was panicking, the tears in his eyes spilling over his face. “What… happened? With Bill?” Ford remained silent, too afraid to speak. “Ford, I… I can’t promise I won’t still be cross with ya once you tell me, but… I _would_ like to know what exactly you were tryin’ to protect me from.” Fiddleford said, reaching out for Ford’s arm, gently guiding him to the couch. “I want the truth, Stanford.”

Ford took a deep, shuddering breath, keeping his head bowed in resignation, allowing himself to be led to the couch by Fiddleford. He didn’t let himself lean back into the seat, he merely clutched at the fabric of his coat, trying to get his vocal chords working again, working out what he would say, how much he could reveal to Fiddleford before he'd get fed up and leave, never to return, disgusted by him and what he'd done.

“...Gravity Falls was like a godsend... I’d spent my whole _life_ feeling like…” His voice came out slowly, cracking and hitching, having to be coaxed out in places. “Like I was out of place, a-a _freak_ , like I was damaged and weird. B-But here? Everywhere I looked I saw something new, something… Something _different_ , something l-like _me_.” Ford’s breath was shallow, and he dug his fingernails deep beneath the skin of his palms, not caring when they began to pucker and bleed. “I fel-felt so at home, like I-I finally _fit_. I wanted to know where all of it, a-and by extension m-myself, came from.” He paused, working up the courage to glance at Fiddleford, to make sure he was still there, that he hadn’t grown tired of the story before it really began. “I hit a snag in my research then. A roadblock I couldn’t wrap my head around. So I-I… I went out hiking, deep in the m-mountains to clear my head. Eventually I found some… some writing in a cave, about a being with _answers_.”

“An’ _that_ was when you summoned the demon?” Fiddleford said, unable to hide the anger in his voice. Ford shrunk back, not meeting Fiddleford’s eyes, and nodded.

“H-he didn’t show up r-right away.” Ford said. “He came to me in a… In a dream. He said he was a _muse,_ that he could o-offer th-the secrets of the u-uni-universe to me, that I was _special_ , marked for _greatness_.So I made a deal with him. He’d offer his w-wisdom and I’d let him…” Ford swallowed a lump in his throat, bringing one hand to the wound on his head, falling silent.

“...You’d let him?” Fiddleford prodded.

“I would let him control my body, my _mind_. P-posses me. Forever.” Ford said, a tear rolling down his face. “I-it… It wasn’t so bad, not at first, but... h-he fucked up my brain, F-Fidds… Every t-time he took over he’d make sure I felt a rush of en-endorphins, he’d get me fucking _high_ o-on th-them and…” More tears began to flow as Ford began hyperventilating once more. “A-and it was ni-nice. J-Just drifting in the m-mindscape, no-nothing to do, nothing to w-worry about. Anytime I got o-overwhelmed or anxious, I co-could call that fu-fucking _asshole_ and he’d t-take over, ‘giving me a break’ he’d called it. I could just _stop existing_ for a little while, whenever it got to be too _much_.” Ford sighed. “I was so fucking stupid.”

“...An’ was this before or after you’d called me?” Fiddleford said, his brow knit in frustration.

“B-Before.” Ford said, bringing his knees up to his chest, trying to hold himself together. “Once you showed up… Once we’d s-started d-dating, he g-got… _violent_. St-started doing m-more dangerous, _sickening_ , th-things in my body. He always apologized, and I always fucking listened. O-once I’d t-tried to call St-Stanley. To p-patch things up.” Ford’s breath hitched and he hid his face. “He took over, and stabbed my arm w-with an xacto blade. Said ‘you’re not going to let that deadweight imbecile drag you down again,’” Ford was mimicking Bill’s voice. “Said ‘it’s been so long since I really had a human body, I didn’t know what else to do, I didn’t mean to hurt you,’ said ‘I just want what’s best for you, _Sixer_ , and Stan’s not it, he’ll just isolate you and drag you down again. Here, let me take over and nurse your wounds so you don’t have to feel it while they heal’ and like a fucking _idiot_ I took it hook line and sinker!” Ford had lept up from the couch, storming to the other side of the room and punching the wall as hard as he could.

Fiddleford stood up to follow him, reaching out and grabbing his shoulder. Ford flinched at the touch and his anger dissipated, fading into sadness and grief, becoming infinitely more docile out of fear that he would frighten Fiddleford even more if he continued. Fiddleford led him back to the couch, setting him down and patting Ford’s bleeding knuckles with his shirt sleeve. “An’ then?” He prodded. He knew that Ford’s story was far from over.

“...Then you s-saw wh-what was on th-the other side of the p-portal.” He said, quietly, gently pulling his hand away, letting the blood flow freely. “I-I was so s-scared, Fidds. I th-thought I’d lost you, y-you were out of it for h-hours, I didn’t know what to _do_. You tried to w-warn me about the other side. I-I confronted Bill about it and… And you were r-right. He was using me, li-literally _using_ me, like a fucking t-tool, to b-build a gateway b-between our worlds. He wants to end the-- He wants to end the _world_ , that’s why he-- that’s why he a-attacked to-tonight. There’s a r-rift from the p-portal, he needs it open.” Ford tried taking a deep breath, but the act only served to make him lightheaded. “So I shut down the p-portal.”

“...He didn’t like that too much… Did he?” Fiddleford hand clenched at the fabric of the couch cushion. Ford shook his head, but remained silent. “Stanford, I want the truth. What’s this big bad horrible thing you were trying to protect me from?”

“...I-I lost my _mind…_ ” Ford choked. “I couldn’t sl-sleep, not wi-with _him_ th-there, I st-started _h-h-hallucinating,_ h-hearing v-voices, I--” Ford curled in on himself, trying to hide. “He possessed my body at random, he-- he burned me, threw me down a flight of stairs, he sliced my arms open, he-- I-I managed to h-hide th-the key to the p-portal room until I c-called Stanley, thank _god_.”

Fiddleford sat still, looking over Ford’s shaking and vulnerable form, his eyes resting on the wound on Ford’s head. “An’ the metal plate?”

Ford turned still as the grave, every muscle in his body stopped moving. He swallowed a lump in his throat. “...I _can’t_ …” He whimpered.

“Stanford, what was so awful that you felt it was worth lyin’ to me about?” Fiddleford said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Ford was silent for a long time, and for a brief moment Fiddleford wondered if he would ever speak again, but finally, Ford’s voice reached his ears, a tiny, faint whisper. “...I’d passed out in the study... That must’ve been when he took over, b-b-because I don’t remember him trying to force it that day… But, when I woke up, I was in my bed, coming d-down from that _g-goddamned_ rush, it was _a-awf-awful…_ and there-- there was _someone there_ , and I-- I don’t remember w-what th-they looked like, they could b-be _anyone_ and I don’t… I d-don’t-- I n-never w-wanted to d-d-do th-that with _a-anyone_ a-and he-- _he_ \--” With that final memory, the last piece of Ford’s broken heart shattered into tiny pieces, it felt like the floor dropped out from underneath him, and Stanford Pines broke down. He hugged his knees to his chest, allowing tears to fall freely from his eyes, devastated and frightened and angry, and _heartbroken_ , a whirlwind of emotions threatening to sweep him away.

Slowly, carefully, Fiddleford reached out and placed a hand on Ford's shoulder, his heart lurching when he didn't seem to react to the touch beyond a defeated whimper. “I… I understand now.” He said, quietly. “I understand why you kept this from me. I don't like it, I wish you'd just told me the truth, but I _know_ you didn't lie to be mean spirited. I'd appreciate it if we didn't have any more secrets between us after this...” Fiddleford pulled Ford closer to him, heartbroken that Ford was so distraught. “But I think we can work through this.”

Ford paused, looking up at Fiddleford, a look of distrust in his eyes that Fiddleford had never seen direct at him before. “...No, I lied to you.” He said, his voice quiet and fragile. “Y-you’d never be able to t-trust me again.” He spoke with fear in his voice, and anger, and sadness, dozens of emotions clashing against each other in a dangerous cocktail that threatened to tear him apart.

Fiddleford slowly brought his hand up to Ford’s head, tilting it slightly and placing a gentle kiss on the cut on Ford’s head. “I trust you, darlin’. It’ll take some time to get through this, but I trust you.” He said, slowly intertwining his fingers with Ford’s, breathing a sigh of relief when the distrust faded from Ford’s eyes.

“...Are you alright?” Ford said, quietly, gently squeezing Fiddleford’s hand. “The… The other side of the portal-- I saw it, I lived there, it was awful, it messes with your head.” Ford wiped the tears from his face, struggling to regain some semblance of composure.

Fiddleford faltered, repressed memories of that nightmarish hellscape flooding back into his brain. He shuddered, pulling closer to Ford. “A d-disembodied h-hand… A h-head with no _face_ …” He muttered, trembling and burying his face into Ford’s coat.

Ford’s arms wrapped around Fiddleford’s thin frame, holding him close, rubbing soothing circles in his back. “I’m so sorry, Fiddleford.” He said, quietly, gently. Fiddleford was still shaking with fear, gasping for breath.

“I-It w-was _h-horri-b-ble..._ ” Fiddleford stammered, the words lost to his sobs.

 “I… I know, darling. I’m so sorry. It’ll fade with time, I swear it.” Ford’s voice wavered a bit, but he spoke in as calming of a tone as he could muster. “I’ll be here with you as long as you need me.”

“...I’ll always need you, Stanford.” Fiddleford said, quietly. Ford went still, the tidal wave of emotions threatening to take hold of him once again.

“I’ll always n-need you, too, Fidds...” He managed to choke out, before tears fell from his eyes once more and his body wracked with sobs.

Fiddleford held onto Ford as tight as he possibly could, clutching the ratty coat like it was the only thing keeping him from floating away. “H-he’s c-coming, th-the end of the w-world…” He stammered, the hope draining from his voice.

“Not if I can help it. I-I’ll stop him, I don’t c-care how inevitable he t-thinks it is, I’ll s-stop him.” Ford said, his resolve tightening. “The world i-isn't going to end on my watch. Not while y-you’re in it. Not while Stan and the kids are in it.” He held Fiddleford as close as he could, unable to let go, and nestled his face in the crook of his neck.

“...So m-many _eyes_ , w-watchin’ m-me…” Fiddleford continued to mutter under his breath, but eventually relaxed in Ford's arms, exhausted.

Both Fiddleford and Stanford startled when the sound of a high shriek filled the house, “ _Dipper! Where did you g-go? DIPPER!”_

“Mabel!” Ford shouted, not bothering to let go of Fiddleford and carrying him up the stairs as fast as he could. He braced himself to kick down the attic door, only to notice that it had been already… by what appeared to be a horse, or more likely a unicorn if the barrier was back up. “Mabel, are you alright?!”

Mabel had her crossbow aimed at the doorway, the sound of footsteps frightening her, and dropped it when Ford appeared. “Grunkle Ford! W-where’s Dipper? He’s in trouble, Grunkle Ford, He’s gonna-- w-was I dreaming again? Am I dreaming right now…?” Mabel spoke entirely too fast, clutching her blanket as she cried.

“Mabel, Mabel you were dreaming, I promise. This is real, Dipper’s not in danger, he’s outside with Stanley…” Ford said, scooping Mabel up in his arms.

Fiddleford joined Ford, patting Mabel gently with a shaky hand. “We all had bad dreams tonight, darlin’... Everything is okay now.” Fiddleford sighed, not sure if he was being truthful or not.

“It was just Bill, sweetie.” Ford said. “The first time, at least… Do you want me to take you to Dipper?” He asked.

Mabel nodded, gripping the collar of Ford’s coat in place of her blanket. “P-please. I need him to be okay.”

Ford nodded, picking Mabel up and carrying her down the stairs, holding her close. “He’s alright, I swear, I won’t let _anything_ happen to you… I’m so sorry, Mabel.”

Mabel kept silent, whimpering softly as Ford carried her downstairs and out to the porch, where Stan was wrapping Dipper up in a throw blanket, holding him close against the chill of the night, shivering as fresh snow began to fall once again.

Ford managed to set Mabel down on the porch, next to Dipper, before something in his heart twisted and broke at the sight of Stanley. _Bill… I fell for his trick, **again** , and what’s worse Stan got caught in the crossfire, he went through the worst years of his **life** because of **Bill** … Because of **me**..._

His trembling hands clenched into fists, opening the scratches he’d made earlier, fresh blood dripping from his skin onto the snow. With a low, ungodly yell, he lept from the porch, gun in one hand, knife in the other, searching for something to attack, something to _hit_ , something to _break,_ to _destroy_.

Mabel yelped in surprise and clung to Dipper, who held Mabel tight and shared his blanket. Snow kicked up from under Ford’s feet, the satisfying crunch completely lost on him. Through teary eyes, Ford twirled the knife in his hand, screaming as he plunged it into the nearest tree, again and again, chunks of wood sent flying every time he retracted. Eventually, the knife got stuck, and Ford resorted to using his fists, his boots, kicking and screaming and not caring when the wound on his knuckles reopened, blood spattering the wood of the pine tree before him and being covered up by the snowfall. He let out a guttural scream, drawing his pistol and opening fire on the tree, sending round after round into the wood. The shot was powerful, enough to burn a hole through the tree, and the one behind it, and the one behind it, and the one behind it, smoldering wood cooling down in the night air, the snow around them soaking into the wood. Ford kept firing, not caring how many trees he had to ruin, this was all that was stopping him from marching downstairs and destroying the rift himself just so he could give Bill a taste of his own medicine, from exacting revenge for the brother he’d lost all those years ago, for the brother he’d pushed away.

Ford stopped short when he felt a hand on his back, one finger still on the trigger, ready to fire another round into the forest, no longer to see how many trees back the shot went in the darkness. He managed to spare the figure a quick glance.

 _Stanley_.

Ford swallowed a lump in his throat. Stan… wasn’t afraid of him, he never had been, he’d _approached_ him, even at his lowest point… How was Ford going to tell him that everything that happened between them… was his fault, that Stanley had been put through hell because of Ford’s mistakes, his shortsightedness?

He felt snow falling on his face.

He knew it was snow, because his tears felt like _fire_ against his skin.

Ford dropped the gun, falling to his knees, crumpling into the snow. Stan knelt beside him, trying to comfort _him,_ when Stan was the one who had been hurt _… How on earth am I going to tell him?_

“Ford… why don’t we get inside? Get the kids in bed again, and we can talk about all of this.” Stan said, his voice cracking, but gentle. “It's… i-it’s alright, we're safe, right? That demon’s not gonna attack again?”

“G-Grunkle Stan…” Mabel’s tiny voice squeaked from across the yard. “I don't wanna go back to sleep…”

Stan turned and rushed to Mabel’s side, petting her head softly. “You don’t have to. We can watch some TV and get rid of some of those brain cells.” He softly kissed the top of her head and sighed. “That goes for all of you, let’s go. I’ll even turn on the heater.”

“...I'll make some coffee.” Ford said, trying to dry his eyes, to push down his anger and grief.

Dipper held Mabel’s hand, gripping it tight and afraid to let go, ushering her back in the house. “Grunkle Ford…? Are you gonna be okay?” Dipper whispered, his voice hoarse.

Ford kept staring straight ahead, following Stanley like a shadow. “...I'm fine, Dipper. I'm sorry I frightened you.” He said, trying to hide the tired look in his eyes, trying to hide the lie in his voice under a small twitch of a smile.

“C’mon kids, w-why don't you go put on one of them movies you like. What’s the one with the colorful boys you like, Mabel?” Fiddleford said, doing his best to make the kids feel better, to push down the fear that was rising like magma deep in his gut. When the kids made it inside, Fiddleford slowly reached his arms around Stanford, clinging to him for dear life, trying to avoid the eyes he was sure were watching him from every darkened corner.

“...Oh, and, uh… Ford… What’s with the ghost-unicorn thing over there?” Stan whispered, gesturing to where Riley was standing, having given up trying to get out of Celestebellebethabelle’s body and resorted to cowering in fear of Ford’s anger, flinching when she saw Stan point in her direction. “I think she said she was stuck earlier?”

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep shuddering breath, pulling Fiddleford close to steady his nerves. “I’m going to deal with that later. Right now… do we have any rope?”

“Yeah, there should be some in the gift shop.” Stan said, raising an eyebrow. “I'll go get it.” Stan said, hurrying inside to find some rope for Ford.

“Wait, you’re just going to tie me up?” Riley asked. “I-I can’t even leave this unicorn--”

“I’m leaving you out here for the night. You’re already a ghost, it’s not like you’re in any real danger.” Ford said, keeping a steady grip on Fiddleford and furrowing his brow, trying not to let his anger seep through to the surface again.

“...S-Stanford, what’s goin’ on? Who in tarnation is that?” Fiddleford asked.

“I’ll explain later…” Ford said. “Or maybe she’ll do the explaining. Just… not right now, it’s too much to deal with… Trust me...”

Fiddleford hesitated to say, “Okay Stanford… If you say so…”

Ford frowned, looking away, not meeting Fiddleford’s eyes. Fiddleford’s hesitation wasn’t lost on him, he could tell that Fiddleford was still upset, why wouldn’t he be? _Maybe he was lying… maybe things will never be the same between us… How could he love me, much less trust me, after what I’ve done? How could **anyone** … _Ford let out a small, defeated sigh. He’d known this would happen, eventually. He’d known eventually Fiddleford would remember everything, and hate him again. But… he hadn’t counted on the rest of his family hating him as well, he hadn’t counted on _Stan_ hating him, he wasn’t in any way prepared to face that fact. He couldn’t meet Stan’s eyes when he emerged from the gift shop, holding a length of rope.

“Will this do?” Stan asked, gently. He figured that Ford was mad at himself about the barrier breaking, and clearly he and Fiddleford were going through something. It wouldn’t surprise Stan at all if Ford told him he expected the rest of the family to be angry with him over his perceived negligence, but he had to do his best to show Ford that no one blamed him for what happened. That they could never blame him, no matter what happened. Stan knew that Ford’s heart was in the right place, even if it didn’t always result in the outcome either of them wanted.

“...Yes, Stanley.” Ford said, gingerly taking the rope from Stan. Fiddleford stepped back, giving Ford room to do what he needed, and Ford slowly approached Riley, noting the small step backwards she took when he first came close, as well as the firm resolve she soon gained, stepping right up to Ford despite her fear.

“So, what, I’m… just gonna stay out here for tonight?” Riley asked. “I, uh, kind of have some things I need to own up to.”

“We’ve had enough distress this evening, we’ll deal with you in the morning.” Ford nearly growled, unwilling to reign in his anger around Riley, but attempting to do so anyways for Fiddleford's sake. Ford tied her to a nearby tree before storming back to the Shack, fists clenched and trembling.

Stan and Fiddleford followed close, getting a gruesome view of Ford’s blood-stained head, of his bloodied knuckles and the self-inflicted gashes on his palms. “...Ford.” Stan gently nudged his brother's arm. “...Let's get you fixed up, yeah?” Stan placed a gentle hand on Ford’s back, attempting to lead him to the kitchen so the kids wouldn’t have to see Ford bloodied up in the light, so they wouldn’t have to worry any more than they already were.

Ford sighed, staring at the wound on his hand, at the blood coagulating on his skin. “...Alright. I’ve… I need to tell you something, Stanley…”

“Is it about Bill? Is he going to come back?” Stan asked, while he grabbed the first aid, assuming the worst.

“Not if I can help it, but…” Ford sighed, pulling Stan deeper into the kitchen, away from the doorway where he knew Fiddleford, Mabel, and Dipper could hear them.

Stan pulled out the peroxide and soaked a cotton ball with it. “Get your head over here, let me clean this thing up.” He said, turning on the light so he could get a better look at the wound. Stan sighed, realizing that Dipper had used a standard cotton thread, perfect for crafting, not for skin. One of them would have to re-stitch the wound, and fast, before it got infected. “We’re gonna have to redo these stitches, Ford. Do you wanna do it or are you gonna let me?”

“Um… They might turn out better if you do them.” Ford said, grabbing a chair and sitting down at the kitchen table. “I-If you don’t mind, that is…”

“Ford, what’s going on? Is this about the barrier breaking? ‘Cause that’s not your fault. No one even thought about it, so don’t worry about it, okay?” Stan said, grabbing a proper suture from the first aid kit and starting to work on Ford’s head, one stitch at a time.

Ford sighed, not even flinching when the needle pierced his skin. “No, S-Stan… It’s all my fault, I-I fell right into his trap…” Ford took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. “...Remember the science fair, all those years ago? I know you said it was an accident… and it… It wasn’t your fault, I s-swear, Stan. Bill orchestrated the whole thing. He was lying and manipulating and using me before I even knew who he was, and what’s _worse_ is that he hurt _you_ , in t-the worst way.”

Stan stopped his stitching, standing eerily still. “He… He did what?”

“...He was a demonic interdimensional criminal who wanted to trick me into doing his dirty work, I should have realized that he wanted a say in what ridiculous goddamn _college_ I went to-- Stanley, I'm so sorry.”

Stan set down the needle and walked calmly to the nearest wall, before punching a hole right through it with a loud grunt.

“I’m so s-sorry, Stanley,” Ford stammered, “I should have _r-realized_ sooner, I should have f-figured it out the s-second I--” Ford’s voice cracked, angry, grieving tears flowing from his eyes.

“That damn _nacho_ put me out on the _streets_ , ruined your college plans _and_ your whole life after that! He tricked you into building some sort of apocalypse portal, and made you so goddamned paranoid you shut everyone else out of your life! He messed with my family tonight, he made _me_ remember shit I’d thought I’d buried years ago!” Stan roared. “I am going to kick. _His. **Ass**._ ”

“I… Stan that isn't _physically possible_.” Ford said. “I… I feel awful for wishing it was, for wishing I could make him _bleed_ and writhe in pain even an _ounce_ of what he’s done to everyone else. I-I… I understand, if you’re mad at me over this.”

“You?! How the _hell_ is this at all your fault? He targeted you… _Hunted_ you down. He's a filthy rotten evil bastard!” Stan yelled, not caring if the kids heard or not.

“He-- _He--_ I was the one who s-summoned him to our world in the first place, Stan!” Ford yelled, trembling. “I was the o-one who wasn’t s-smart enough to figure out his plan--”

Ford was interrupted by Stan, who wrapped Ford in a sweaty, bloody embrace. “Shut up, Stanford. This isn't your fault, okay? He tricked you. Even _I've_ fallen for cons in my day too, and you can't change the past.”

“E-Everyone keeps saying it’s not my fault, but it _is_ , t-they’re _wrong_.” Ford stammered, leaning into the hug and clinging to Stan for dear life.

Stan held Ford as tight as he could, far too afraid to let go, he felt like he was watching Ford getting sucked into the portal all over again, like he was at the front porch of Ford's house again, before it became the Mystery Shack, staring down a loaded crossbow, his brother's fingers on the trigger. It felt like Ford was closing the curtains on him again, not out of spite but fear this time around. He couldn’t let Ford spiral down and out again, not if he could help it. “I’m not wrong this time, Ford. Come on, you said Dipper made a deal with this guy, are you mad at _him_ , too?” Stan said. “Ford, don't… don't blame yourself for this, I _know_ what happens to you when you get like this, I don't want you slipping away again.” Stan couldn't help but remember having to carry a drunk and sobbing Ford to bed the last time he'd gotten like this, of having to stay up through the night to make sure Ford didn't _die_ due to his reckless lack of care for himself. “We're all still here, the world is still here, Fiddleford is still here, the kids are still here, and _I'm_ still here. You've got a _responsibility_ to them, to all of us, to _me,_ to get through this. I can't lose you again, not after everything that happened, not after tonight.”

Ford didn't say anything, he simply hugged Stan tighter. He couldn't fathom _why_ anyone was even considering the notion that he was guiltless, the only thing he could focus on was what Bill had done to his family that night, what he'd _allowed_ Bill to do, even though his intentions were pure when he'd first summoned Bill Cipher to this realm, intentions do not make good men. Ford took a deep breath, mustering up the courage to speak. “I'm so sorry, Stanley… T-The last thing I want right now is to hurt you, or F-Fiddleford or-- or the kids.”

“I know that, Ford, I do. If you didn't care, you wouldn't have fought until shrapnel popped out of your skull. Sit back down and let me finish these stitches, okay?”

Ford swallowed a lump in his throat, giving Stanley a final squeeze before collapsing on the kitchen chair, exhausted in every sense of the word. He didn't flinch when Stan finished stitching up his head, when the rubbing alcohol hit his wound to clean it. “Do you want something for the pain?” Stan asked, earning an eerily out of place laugh from Ford.

“No thank you, Stanley.” Ford said, using one hand to keep his head steady, not caring when blood smeared on his face. “I put this thing in with no painkillers, I can handle the stitches.”

Dipper shuffled into the kitchen, holding a bottle of Tylenol, and slowly approached Ford. “I brought you some medicine, Great Uncle Ford…”

“...Dipper, really, I'm fine.” Ford said, managing a smile for Dipper’s sake. “Thank you for offering, but I'm okay. I've been through worse than a few scrapes.”

Dipper shook his head, gently placing the unopened bottle in Ford's hands. “If it hurts, you should take something.” He said, wrapping his arms around Ford, his head resting on his chest, thankful for every second that it was _Ford_ in there, not Bill. “I'm sorry I did a bad job on the stitches.”

“Dipper, you did better than the first stitches I ever had to give when I tried practicing medicine. I'm so proud of you.” Ford said, opening up the bottle with shaky hands, and swallowing two pills for Dipper's sake.

Mabel and Fiddleford came into the kitchen holding a couple of blankets, giving one each to Stan and Ford. After all Mabel had heard Bill say about Stan this evening, she figured he could use a little comfort. Fiddleford pulled up a chair next to Ford, gently taking hold of his hand and leaning in close, as much for his own comfort as for Ford's.

“Don't worry, Grunkle Stan, I covered my ears during all the bad words.” Mabel said, giving Stan as big a hug as she could. “And Bill deserves them anyways. I promise I won't repeat them.”

Stan gave a rough sigh, mentally kicking himself for not censoring his anger when he knew the kids could here, but thankful that Mabel at least seemed to forgive him. He reached down to pick her up, holding her close, knowing that whatever had happened in her dreams that night it hadn’t been good.

Mabel gave Stan a peck on the cheek and leaned against him, wrapping her arms around him as tight as she could, holding back a sniffle. “...Grunkle Stan? D-Do we have to go back to sleep?” She asked, burying her head in Stan’s shoulder, ignoring the old man smell.

“No, not at all. We can all sit in living room and turn on the TV.” Stan said. “When I said we could stay up late tonight, I meant it.”

“...What about school tomorrow?” Dipper asked.

“Do you feel like going?” Ford said, lifting Dipper up into his lap, hugging him protectively, grateful that Stan had saved Dipper from an awful fate that night. Dipper shook his head furiously, a tiny hiccup escaping from his throat.

“Then you aren't going. Neither of you. We'll take a… Mental health day.” Ford said. “Just stay in, t-take a break.” Ford was secretly ecstatic that the kids didn’t feel like going to school the next day. He didn’t think his heart could take it at the moment, letting them out of his sight for that long so soon after almost losing them. Staying in from school tomorrow would give the kids a chance to heal, but would do wonders for Ford’s quickly resurfacing paranoia. He needed to be close to them, to know that they were _okay_ and _safe._ He needed to know that Bill wouldn't hurt them. What's more, Ford had to know that they wouldn't turn out just like himself. He held Dipper close, afraid to let go even for a second.

 Dipper gripped Fords collar and whispered softly, “What category do you think that ghost is…? Is it going to hurt us?”

“I'm not sure, but she _did_ save everyone's lives with that unicorn hair… I'd wager she won't or more likely _can't_ hurt us…” Ford said, quietly.

“I think, maybe… We should trap her in silver. To be safe. I don't want to take any chances, y-you know?” Dipper stammered, unsure if his idea was a good one.

“Of course, Dipper.” Ford said. “Believe me, you have every right in the world and then some not to trust her. I think there's a silver mirror in the living room, should work fine.”

Dipper nodded and pried himself away from Ford to be let down. “I'll get it for you.” He said, walking into the living room.

“I'll handle the ghost, then.” Ford said. He noticed how Dipper walked with his head held a little higher than it had months earlier, even after the evening's events, helping Ford made Dipper stand a little taller. It made him feel a little less alone in the world, made him feel _important_ in Ford's eyes. Reminded him that Bill could be _wrong,_ that the end of the world might not be so close at hand with the two of them working together. Over the summer, Dipper's quest to find the author of the Journals had been brought on from curiosity, yes, but Dipper had somehow _connected_ with Ford through his journals. He couldn't explain it, but he felt like the author was a long lost friend before he'd even met him.

Dipper stood on a stool to heave the mirror off of the wall, and dragged it carefully outside to the porch. He raised an eyebrow at Riley, still stuck inside the unicorn but no longer trying to escape. She seemed to have given up. “We're going to get you out of that unicorn soon.” Dipper held up the mirror. “And we'll put you in here for now.”

“Uh, okay. Quick question though, how is that possible? I thought silver was werewolves?” Riley said.

“Interestingly, silver is a good way with dealing with all kinds of supernatural stuff.” Dipper said with a small, tired, smile. He could go on and on for hours about the many uses of silver, and if it weren't for his disheveled state of both mind and body, he’d do it, ghost or no.

Ford joined Dipper outside, placing a warm, fluffy blanket around Dipper's shoulders. “It’s cold, go inside, I'll handle this.” He said. “I’ll be inside in a minute, alright?”

“O-Okay…” Dipper said, the tiny bit of resolve in his chest faltering. “Are y-you sure? I-I can help!”

Ford mustered up a small, reassuring smile. “I think it’d be best if you stayed near your sister for now, Dipper… She’s… She’s worried about you.” Ford said, taking a knee to get to Dipper's level. “I know you're more than capable of helping, but everyone _else_ needs your help, even more than I do.” He said. “And… And I do need, and appreciate, your help, Dipper."

Dipper nodded and held his head a little higher while he slipped back indoors, Ford’s smile twitching into a slightly more genuine one.

“Alright… Uh, Riley, was it?” Ford said, turning to Riley. “Let’s see what’s got you stuck in there…” He had a hunch he already knew what the problem was. The fuzzy dice were a physical object, likely a piece of her haunt. Riley had mentioned not being very strong, and having to _travel_ to Oregon, as well as only barely being able to survive the trip. With that much energy _tethering_ Riley to Gravity Falls, that close to her person? It was no wonder she was unable to break off her possession of the unicorn. Ford slowly reached out for the dice, and when he pulled them away from the unicorn, Riley came with them.

“Woah!” Riley exclaimed as she was freed from her mythical prison. “How'd you know that would work? What, do you study this kinda thing or something?”

“Yes, actually. I have over thirty years of experience in the field.” Ford said. “Now do me a favor and fly into this mirror. My nephew wants you trapped in there for tonight.”

“Wait, nephew? Oh, sorry man. I kinda assumed you were their grandfather.” Riley said. “You'll… you'll let me apologize for what I did in the morning… right?”

“It depends.” Ford said, simply. “Now get in the mirror.”

“Um… I just…” Riley floated over towards the mirror and hesitantly stuck a hand through the shiny silver surface. With a yelp, she felt her whole being get sucked into the mirror, the fuzzy dice falling to the ground on the other side. Ford pocketed the dice, keeping them well out of Riley’s view so she couldn't escape. He gripped the ornate sides of the mirror and winced, his bloody knuckles making it difficult to get a good hold on the huge mirror. Slowly, Ford dragged it towards the house, ignoring the pain that shot through his knuckles, the biting sting of the snow against the still open wounds.

Fiddleford stood at the door, watching Ford struggle with the mirror, unsure if helping would be a good idea. After seeing Ford stop for the third time to inspect his hands. Fiddleford pulled on his coat and rushed to Ford’s side to help. “Stanford, are you alright?” He asked. “You're… you're hurt, let me help you with that.”

Ford paused, confusion flickering on his face as he propped up the mirror, snow beginning to pile on his shoulders. He swallowed a lump in his throat, giving Fiddleford a tiny smile. _Maybe… he really does want to work through this, if he took the time to check on me out here…_ He took a deep breath, still wrapping his mind around the concept that he and Fiddleford could still be together after the night's events. “Thank you, Fiddleford… I-- I really appreciate it.”

Fiddleford grabbed one side of the mirror and lifted it with more strength than Ford had expected, and walked with Ford towards the house, eyes darting around and arms trembling.

“Fiddleford…” Ford said, his voice quiet and his eyes downcast. “You don’t have to h-hide it from me, if you’re scared of what’s out there, of what’s on the other side… If _talking_ about it w-would make you feel better… I’ll listen, I’ll _understand_.”

“I-I’m f-fine, Stanf-ford… I don’t w-want you gettin’ upset neither, I don’t w-wanna make y-you have a panic a-attack. We don’t need b-both of us r-r-relivin’ what’s…. What’s _back there_. Nobody deserves that.” Fiddleford said, nervously eyeing Riley’s form, trapped in the mirror and staying out of the conversation, awkwardly trying to scoot to one side of the mirror to give the couple some semblance of privacy. “...I won’t f-forget again, for your sake and for Tate’s sake, b-but I won’t make you _remember_ , either.”

The floor dropped out from Stanford’s chest, the rickety dam he’d built around his heart bursting in a cacophony of heartache. Ford dropped his end of the mirror, and he was at Fiddleford’s side in a flash, knees on the ground, snow seeping through his pants and tears streaming down his face, clinging to Fiddleford like he was Ford’s last lifeline. “I-It w-won’t make me _panic,_ F-Fidd-Fiddleford, I swear, y-you can talk about _anything_ with me, if something happens then something happens, I’ll be f-fine, it’s _you_ I’m worried about.” Ford was sobbing now, unable to comprehend the notion that after everything that happened, Fiddleford was still treating him like… like a _person_ , like he was just a person, not the scum of the earth, not the man who nearly ended the world with his own recklessness, but a _person_. The tiny, nearly insignificant flicker of hope Ford held in his chest grew into a steady stream, full of determination to make things work between them, to get to a happy, healthy relationship. One with no more secrets.

Fiddleford dropped the mirror to bend over and attempt to pick up Ford from the wet ground. “Stanford! Let’s just leave this mirror, y-you need to be inside. C’mon, get up, please…” Fiddleford shook as he lifted Ford from the ground, his heart breaking to see Ford in such a state. “...I-I think I’d l-like to talk to you about w-what happened, d-dear. But _indoors_ , where’ you won’t get sick f-from layin’ in the snow.”

Ford sniffled as he stood up with Fiddleford’s aid, holding onto Fiddleford’s hand for dear life. “The m-mirror will just crack if we leave it out here…” He said, quietly.

Fiddleford gently let go of Ford’s hands and heaved the mirror up in his arms with a grunt. “I’ve got i-it… probably.” Ford lifted the other side of the mirror, keeping as tight a grip on it as he could muster, and they walked into the Shack, leaving Riley in the gift shop. The second the mirror was out of Ford’s hands, he scooped Fiddleford up in his arms, carrying him the rest of the way to the living room, not minding the pain so much with someone who cared about him in his arms.

Fiddleford sighed when Ford set him down on their air mattress set-up, and curled up as small as he could, knees to his chest. Ford slowly sat down next to him, his arm wrapped around Fiddleford’s thin frame, holding him close.

“...I’m here, Fiddleford.” Stanford whispered, a rock, a safety net against the sea of night terrors Fiddleford felt trapped in. “I’ve been there, I’ve dealt with it, if you tell me… I might be able to help you deal with it, too…”

Fiddleford took a deep breath, leaning into Ford, clinging to his coat… the warm, safe coat that was so much like _Stanford,_ Fiddleford was amazed that he’d actually been the one to buy it for Ford, that he hadn’t bought it for himself. Fiddleford focused on that coat, on the weft of the fabric and the way it smelled (sweat and old people with a hint of cologne, just like Stanford, though there was a fourth, worse scent that didn’t smell like anything from this world at all). “...I-It was awful, it felt like th-the whole world had dropped out from underneath me. It felt like e-everythin’ I was, everythin’ _we_ were, everythin’ that our entire world was... was _w-wrong_ , an’ I hated it. It felt wrong and disgustin’ and I f-felt my s-s-soul drop outta my body, an’ snap back in place, a touch more wretched than before. T-There were awful, terrifyin’ monsters everywhere, the _a-air_ in that place was in-incomprehensible, the m-monsters were _worse_ … They were starin’ at me with eyes no one should ever _see,_ th-their hands were on my face… Their h-hands were on my _f-face_ … It felt like I was there for an _eternity_...” Fiddleford’s voice was a quiet, hushed whisper. His voice trembled as it creeped out past his lips, as if it were afraid it would be extinguished the second it reached daylight.

Ford held Fiddleford closer, his entire body tensing, preparing for an attack, ready to kill anyone or anything that dared come near Fiddleford when he was in this state. “...It’s a decaying dimension.” He said, finally. “Time doesn’t exist as either an abstract concept or a tangible phenomenon over there, a second can easily turn into _years_ …” He didn’t mention how long a year could feel. “A-And your soul is f-fine, Fiddleford… I promise, it can’t be any worse than mine, at the very least. It just feels that way, I swear. If I knew anyone with a pure soul, it would be _you_ , Fidds.” He continued. “If I could kill every last monster in that awful place… I would.” Ford took a deep breath. “I... I know how you feel… in regards to their actions.” He pulled Fiddleford closer, into his lap, curling around him protectively. Nothing was going to hurt Fiddleford ever again. Not as long as Ford was still breathing.

Fiddleford relaxed in Ford’s arms, leaning his head against Ford’s chest, Ford’s steady heartbeat a grounding force in the sea of terror that was washing over him. Ford was powerful, strong and protective, Fiddleford felt just a little safer resting in Ford’s lap. “S-Stanford, I… we’re safe, right? I know you said th’ end times weren’t comin’ but… for now at least, we’re safe, right?”

“In the morning… I’ll show you the rift, but yes… we’re safe. I promise you.” Ford said. “And I’m going to do everything in my power to keep it that way.” Ford buried his face in the crook of Fiddleford’s neck, trying not to get swallowed up by his feelings of failure again. He had to stay strong through this, for Fiddleford. For _Stanley._ For Dipper and Mabel.

Ford felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, and a mug of coffee slipped into his free hand. “Figured you'd want one.” Stan said, sitting down next to Ford. Dipper and Mabel stayed clung to each other, wrapped up in one blanket together, and sat down right next to Stan, leaning against him for support.

“Hey, Dipper…?” Mabel whispered, squeezing Dipper’s hand. “A-are you okay? I saw you washing blood off of your hands.”

“I'm fine, Mabel… r-really. It was just from when I s-stitched F-Ford’s head. I promise.” Dipper said, wrapping his arms around Mabel. “Are _you_ okay?”

“I'm fine. I'm just… I don't want you to get hurt.” Mabel leaned her head on Dipper’s shoulder and sighed softly. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt, but, I was really scared of losing you.”

“I'm not going anywhere, Mabel. I-I don't want to lose you either. Not ever…” Dipper said, trying his best to hold back a sob. “I-I didn't m-mean to c-call Grunkle Stan instead of an a-ambulance… I didn't know what to do and I'm so sorry, I g-got them-- M-Mom and Dad are-- they're gone b-because of _me…”_

“What? Dipper! D-don’t way that! I-If you didn’t call Grunkle Stan, F-Ford couldn’t have saved them like he did! We… We couldn’t have said goodbye.” Mabel hugged Dipper as tight as she could. “None of that stuff is your fault.”

“Y-You were right… you are my only friend…” Dipper said, tears streaming down his face.

“I’m not your only friend, I was being mean… I…” She sniffled, beginning to cry again, “I'm sorry. _You’re_ my best friend, Dipper.”

Dipper was trembling, sobbing harder. “I'm sorry, Mabel. I don't know what I'd d-do without you.”

Mabel laughed a little through her sobs “You probably wouldn’t do any laundry.” She said.

“A-and I'd keep running out of thinking pens…” Dipper continued.

“And I wouldn't have anyone to g-go on fun adventures with… Or to stay up late playing indoor mini golf with o-or…”

“O-or anyone to use as a sweater mannequin?” Dipper added.

“Yeah…” Mabel leaned against Dipper. “Nothing’s gonna tear us apart… r-right? Even if something happens and we fight like Stan and Ford did… they made up, so w-we could too… right?”

“I wouldn’t take thirty y-years to do it, either.” Dipper said, smiling a little. “I'd give it maybe a week, if it ever happened at all.”

Stan leaned against Ford, using the remote to turn on the TV, a Ducktective rerun starting up to give everyone something to keep them awake. He didn’t say anything, he merely wrapped his arms around his knees, trying to hold himself together. Ford’s shoulders sagged. He hadn’t seen much of Stan’s dream, but he could tell that it hadn’t been good, and that it _had_ been based on his life experiences. He slowly set the mug of coffee down, keeping one hand wrapped around Fiddleford, and placed a gentle, reassuring hand on Stan’s shoulder. Stan sighed, leaning into the touch. He didn’t want to talk about it, not with the kids around, at least, but knowing that his brother was still there gave him a small comfort against the raging storm that had descended upon his family that night. Stan ran his fingers through his hair, taking deep breaths, trying to keep himself from breaking down in front of the kids again. He felt the old, familiar pit in his chest opening up again, taking everything good that had happened the past week and reducing it to rubble, swallowing up the core of his being and threatening to send him into a tailspin. He let out a tiny, choked sob and wrapped his arms around Ford’s torso, burying his face in the crook of his neck and not paying attention to Fiddleford, who was still in Ford’s lap.

Ford wrapped both arms around Stan, and even Fiddleford placed a reassuring hand on Stan’s back. The family sat in silence, comforting each other against the darkness. They were frightened, but not beaten.

As long as they were together, they’d never be beaten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, almost 4,000 hits, thanks so much to everyone for reading and sharing our story! For the next month, we will be on a little bit of a hiatus, taking time to focus on the holidays. We will not however, stop writing. We'll just be releasing chapters slower than usual, hopefully storing up some chapters so we can release then quicker! We have plenty more of our story to share, in addition to another fic we've been planning to release alongside The Wind In Visions. We hope everyone has a happy holiday, no matter which you celebrate. And if you don't celebrate any holidays, have a safe and warm December. (˘³˘)❤
> 
> As always, feel free to message us at the-stan-twin.tumblr.com and the-ford-twin.tumblr.com if you have any questions!


	19. The Secret Origins of Riley O'Connell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12-5-1-8 16-21-20 1 13-1-18-11-5-18 6-15-18 18-9-12-5-25 9-14 8-5-18 2-1-3-11-25-1-18-4, 19-9-14-3-5 20-8-5-18-5 23-1-19 14-15-14-5 9-14 20-8-5 7-18-1-22-5-25-1-18-4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extremely brief mentioning of self harm scars, other than that, nothing too graphic.

Sleep didn’t come for anybody that night.

The morning sun trickled through the windows in tiny droplets, a pale gray at first, signaling the start of a new day.

Stanley was the first to leave the living room. He’d spent the remainder of the night next to Ford, silent and unwavering. His bones cracked and popped when he finally stood, and the bags underneath his eyes were so dark they looked like bruises. The tears on his face had long since dried, leaving lines of salt on his face. Dipper and Mabel followed suit, standing up together, wrapped up in a big blanket, and walked back to the attic as a unit, a team. Nothing in this world or any other would tear them apart.

Stanford had spent the night with Fiddleford in his lap, guarding him with a fierceness he hadn’t shown anything, not even the rift, in a very long time. Eventually, Fiddleford stirred, a silent signal that he wanted to stand up, and Ford released his lover. A small, anxious pang in his heart told him that Fiddleford might not ever come back, but it was quickly squashed. Fiddleford reached into the still packed suitcase, tossing the memory gun aside and pulling out a fresh change of clothes, and shuffled off to the bathroom to change.

And then Stanford was alone.

Slowly, Ford stood up, deflating the air mattress for the day, so the rest of the family could move around the living room as needed. He sighed, leaning against the wall, clutching his coat tighter around himself. _Fiddleford will be back… He’s just down the hallway, he won’t leave you. Not if you hold up your end of the bargain and actually work on getting him to trust you again, you’ve got to prove yourself. You’ve got to be there for him, like he has been for you. How long has he been gone now..? Should I go check on him? No, no, he’s just changing. It hasn’t even been that long you’re being paranoid. Wait, what about the rest of the family? They’re **fine** , Stanford, the barrier’s back up, just **stop**. You’re going down that road again, you can’t do that to Stanley, you can’t do that to Dipper and Mabel.  They deserve better than that, better than you. _ Ford took a deep breath, forcing himself away from the wall, to let go of his coat for a second so he could find another shirt to change into. Ford sighed as he took off his coat, staring at the bloodstain on the left shoulder. He should probably wash it again, and soon. Ford carefully selected a mustard yellow button up shirt from his small pile of clothes, wincing as he pulled off his sweater. The stitches on his head still stung, and the scratches on his hands hadn’t gotten any better during the night, either. He could work through the pain, of course, he’d worked through far, far worse. But after the previous night, he was far too exhausted to try anymore.

Fiddleford returned to the living room with his old clothes bunched up in his arms. He gasped when he was Ford standing half naked in the middle of the living room and quickly covered his eyes. “S-Stanford! You coulda waited for the bathroom!”

“Fiddleford!” Stanford froze, his face flushing red. “...There were blood stains on my clothes, I n-need to wash them as soon as possible… I--” He instinctively moved to cover himself with his coat, before stopping short. What did he have to hide anymore? Fiddleford had stayed... but only on the promise that there would be no more secrets between them. “I-It’s just my shirt, F-Fidds… I’m decent other than that, I promise.” Ford said, steeling himself.

Fiddleford slowly opened his eyes and allowed himself to look as Stanford. He hadn’t seen him undressed in years, and to say the change was drastic would be an understatement. Ford was now surprisingly muscular, with a just a little chub thanks to the side effects of the risperidone, and covered in rough and intricate scars and unfamiliar tattoos. The thought of something giving Ford all of those scars made Fiddleford uneasy, and the realization that some of those scars might be self-inflicted made him even sicker. Fiddleford recognized a few of the tattoos and scars as pieces of Ford’s old code from thirty years back, though he was too rusty to decipher what the words meant. Whatever happened… it seemed to have left Ford’s face untouched, and Fiddleford didn’t want to think about why.

“...I just thought you should know.” Ford said, quietly, noting Fiddleford’s stare and wringing his coat in his hands. “One less secret… right?”

Fiddleford dropped his clothes and slowly approached Ford, placing his hand over Ford’s, patting it softly. “One less secret…” He said.

Stanford gently held Fiddleford’s hand, pausing to take a deep breath before slowly guiding it to his chest. He couldn’t help but squeeze his eyes shut, his whole body tensing in preparation for a panic attack that never came. To Ford’s surprise, he actually found the touch… comforting? _...Maybe it’s because I was expecting it this time around._ He thought to himself. _Maybe the medicine is finally starting to work._

Fiddleford’s heart melted. The fact that Ford had even shown him this side of himself spoke volumes, but… the fact that Ford _trusted_ him this much was almost more than he could bear. He could feel Ford’s heart beating as fast as his own was, though it was far different from the panicked, erratic heartbeat he’d heard so much of the night before. It was still quick, but relaxed, fluttering ever so slightly, almost musical.

Slowly, as if the slightest provocation would ruin the moment, Fiddleford wrapped Stanford in a warm hug, unafraid of Ford’s scars and only hesitating when he saw a hint of panic in Ford’s eyes, before it was extinguished as quickly as it had come. Ford instantly wrapped his arms around Fiddleford in return, completely at ease. In that one gesture, it felt as if his whole world had shifted back into place… or at least as in place as it could be. Fiddleford pulled back ever so slightly to give Ford a gentle smile. “You know, I couldn’t stop lovin’ you even if I wanted to.” He said, gently placing a hand on Ford's cheek. “Believe me.” He stood as close as he could to Ford and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

“I wouldn't be able to stop, either.” Ford said, blushing, with a dopey smile on his face, the first truly genuine one that morning. “I love you, so much.”

“I love you too.” Fiddleford said. “But, uh, you might wanna get dressed, darlin’.” He patted Ford's chest gently. “This is the family room, after all.”

“Ah, right.” Ford said, reaching for his shirt and hastily pulling it on, fumbling with the buttons as he did so.

Fiddleford helped Ford button up the tiny buttons with much steadier hands. “Now, you said you had some laundry to get done? We can throw your clothes in with mine.” He said.

Ford nodded, bundling up his coat and gently grabbing Fiddleford’s dirty clothes as well, tossing them into the washing machine.

“...So, I suppose you got homesick on th’ other side?” Fiddleford asked, quietly, leaning against the dryer as they waited for the washing machine to start up.

“I-- Yes… That coat was the only piece of home, of _you_ , that I had left.” Ford said. “It came in handy over the years, hell, that coat’s saved my life before. Without it… I'm not sure why but whenever I'm not wearing it I feel like I'm on _fire._ ”

“If I didn't know any better, I'd say that there coat was magic.” Fiddleford said, leaning closer to Stanford. “Cause I reckon I'm startin’ to feel the same way about it. L-like it's the only thing in the world keepin’ my feet on the ground.”

“I suppose it's _possible,_ but we'll never know for sure. A sample size of two isn't anything to sneeze at, and I'm not going to put anyone else through the portal to increase that number.” Ford said, frowning.

Fiddleford gave a dry chuckle and leaned against Ford, holding onto his arm. “Last night you mentioned a rift of some sort… What were you talkin’ about, exactly?”

“Well… When I came back through the portal, when Stanley saved me, the instability of the portal didn't exactly close the gate behind me. It’s contained for now, but it's volatile, dangerous, and must be kept top secret at all costs. The only people who know about its existence are you, Dipper, Stanley and I. And later today, I'll tell Mabel as well.” Ford said, looking away. “The exact phenomenon is difficult to explain in English, but with Stanley's help I'm working on a halfway decent translation.”

“So… It's contained in a safe place right? Do you have it locked up down in that basement of yers?”

“Yes, it's in a highly sophisticated, incredibly advanced containment unit, and if you ever hear Stanley calling it a snow globe, you have my permission to spray him with a water bottle.” Ford said.

“An’ I suppose that's what B-bill was tryin’ to get his hands on.” Fiddleford said.

“Yes. He was trying to invade our dreams and possess one of us in order to break the rift. I know for a fact that he tried to strike a deal with Mabel, he was about to wear Stan down when I got to him, and if it wasn't for Stanley, _Dipper_ could have been seriously hurt… And I regret to say that he nearly got _me_ last night.” Ford said, raising a hand to the stitches on his head. “If it hadn't been for _Dipper…_ And that ghost waking me up in the first place…” Ford sighed. “I don’t think we’d be here, if it wasn’t for them.”

“Sometimes those kids are more grown up than they look… They're good kids.” Fiddleford sighed. “Though I can’t say much about that ghost you’ve got up in the gift shop. What are we gonna do about ‘er?”

“Well… I'm planning on studying her, provided she doesn’t turn out to be a threat to the kids, and provided they don’t want her exorcised. Maybe I could find a way to summon Alexandria and Sherman as ghosts…” Ford began to trail off, swallowing a lump in his throat. “...For real, this time.” He said, quietly.

“...Pardon?”

“It felt so _real_. That’s what was so strange about it,” Ford said, sinking to the floor. “I’m normally at least aware that I’m dreaming, and I _know_ that Ouija boards are bullshit, so why did I let myself get fooled into thinking I’d saved them, like some sort of hero?”

“Stanford, it’s okay. I thought my dream… my _nightmare_ was real too.” Fiddleford said. “T-Technically, I g-guess it was…”

“Everyone was _happy_ for just a second…” Ford said. “ _I_ was happy for a second… But I forgot that I can’t be happy and keep everyone safe at the same time. I couldn’t keep _you_ safe, and you were the most at risk.”

Fiddleford frowned and held Ford’s hand, lacing their fingers together, Fiddleford’s five fingers fitting perfectly between Ford’s six. “You don’t have to keep me safe. We can work as a team, like we used to. I ain’t defenseless or anythin’, and neither is anyone else in this family. You gettin’ obsessed with protectin’ everybody is what got you an’ me into this mess in the first place. You gotta learn to let some things go, I can handle more than you think I can.”

Ford squeezed Fiddleford’s hand tight, giving him a light smile. “Okay. I… I believe you. If letting my guard down is what it takes to make this work, I’m willing to try.” He said. “Just… if you’re ever in trouble and you need my help, _please_ call me. I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt.” Ford said, an unspoken _again_ lingering in the air between them.

“I will, Ford, I promise.” Fiddleford leaned against Ford’s chest and wrapped his arms around Ford’s waist.

Ford stiffened, before returning the hug, giving Fiddleford a light kiss on the top of his head. “I love you.”

“You guys made up!” Mabel exclaimed from the staircase, rushing to Ford and Fiddleford to join their hug. Ford gave her a wide smile, accepting her hug with open arms. Dipper quickly followed Mabel, not quite ready to be separated just yet, and joined in the group hug.

“Great Uncle Ford, you’re still okay, right?” Dipper asked, staring at the wound on Ford’s head, grabbing Ford’s large, scuffed up hands in his own smaller ones. “Do you need me to get you more bandaids?”

“I could probably stand to change the bandages… Thank you, Dipper.” Ford said, hugging his niece and nephew. Dipper pulled away and scurried off to fetch the first aid kit for Ford.

“Grunkle Ford, I’m gonna go make a nice tall glass of Mabel Juice, do you want one?” Mabel asked.

“You know the answer to that question is always yes.” Ford said, chuckling. “Extra dinosaurs, please.”

“You got it!” Mabel cheered as she rushed into the kitchen, taking the blender from the cabinet and grabbing her stock of plastic dinosaurs from the freezer.

“So, what exactly is it about plastic dinosaurs that gives it that extra kick?” Ford asked, following Mabel into the kitchen, still holding Fiddleford’s hand.

“I always thought they were just fer decoration.” Fiddleford said.

Mabel winked as she set them on the counter to grab the other ingredients. “That’s a secret, Grunkle Ford.” She added a can of Red Bull, some Pitt Cola, and all kinds of fruit juices in the blender, along with some ice. “It’ll be ready in a second, okay?” Rather than blending, she simply shook the pitcher vigorously, and added the dinosaurs, along with some extra sugar for good measure.

“Great Uncle Ford, I got the bandages!” Dipper said, running into the kitchen, hitting the doorframe before actually getting through the doorway.

“Thank you, Dipper.” Ford said, gently taking the box of band aids from Dipper. “Do any of you want some breakfast? I’m about to fry some eggs once I fix myself up here.”

“I’m not very hungry.” Dipper sighed as he sat down at the table.

“To be honest, neither am I, but you’ve still got to eat.” Ford said.

Mabel poured a few glasses of Mabel juice for everyone and set them at the table. “Do you just want some cereal or a granola bar or something?”

Dipper rested his head in his hands, staring at a blank spot on the wall. “M’fine, really.”

Ford frowned, taking a seat next to Dipper and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Will you at least drink a glass of milk?” He said. “Please, Dipper, you have to take care of yourself…” Ford said.

“Maybe later, okay? Right now I'm just not hungry.” Dipper said, frowning.

“Alright…” Ford sighed.

Stan huffed, shuffling down the hallway and into the gift shop. After the previous night, and learning what Bill Cipher truly looked like, all the Illuminati symbolism in the Shack didn't hold the same mysterious charm it had before. Stan swallowed a sickening feeling in his gut, he had a feeling he now knew why Stanford had had so many bizarre tapestries and rugs around his house in the first place. Rubbing the tired feeling from his eyes, he stepped into the gift shop, flipping the light switch and grabbing the rug from in front of the vending machine first. He paused, wondering if the bastard was watching through the rug somehow, flipping off the image of Bill Cipher just in case he could. Stan coughed from the cloud of dust from under the rug, stumbled backward, and tripped over a silver mirror in the middle of the room.

“Whoa, you alright there?” A voice came from the mirror. “You’re the guy from last night who glued the unicorn hair to the house, right?”

“What the heck?” Stan said, scrambling away from the mirror. “Wait, I’m alone. What the hell?” He bent over, picking up the large mirror, which wasn’t showing him his own reflection, but instead some sort of… ghost? “Hey, Ford?! What’s this magic mirror thing in the gift shop, and can I use it as an attraction?! I could make some big bucks offa this thing!” He yelled.

It wasn’t long before Ford burst through the door, pistol fully loaded and ready to fire. “What mirror, Stan what are you-- oh.” Ford stopped short when he realized that Stanley was holding the mirror with Riley stuck inside.

“Seriously, though, is this thing going to put a curse on our house?” Stan asked, holding up the mirror.

“Oh hey, paranormal investigator guy!” Riley said, waving. “Did you, uh… D-Did you and your boyfriend work things out?”

“She’s most likely not a curse.” Ford said, before turning to Riley. “And my romantic affairs are none of your business.” Ford said, turning a little red.

“Well you didn’t really seem to care last night when you two started talking about some sort of terrifying event you both witnessed with me sitting right between you guys.” Riley deadpanned. “Seriously, dude. You okay?”

“Is anybody going to fill me in on why we have a spooky mirror in the gift shop?” Stan asked. “And let me use it to make tons of money?”

“This is the ghost that accidentally possessed the unicorn last night.” Ford said, gesturing to the mirror. “I suppose if you want to use her as an attraction I can’t stop you...”

“Wait, am I gonna get paid for this?” Riley asked

“How am I supposed to pay a mirror… ghost... lady? What would you even do with money?”

“I’m kind of meh on the whole gender thing but yeah, lady is fine.” Riley said, shrugging. “I could buy myself a bigger mirror?”

“...Maybe we should explain to everyone who you are and why you’re here before we decide anything.” Ford said.

“Yeah, there’s a lot of shit I need to own up to.” Riley said, looking down. Well, as down as one could look while existing on a two dimensional plane.

“...What _kind_ of shit, exactly?” Stan asked, growing more than a little wary.

“Uh… Important… shit. I should probably tell you all, as a family.” Riley said.

“I agree.” Ford said, trying to keep his resurfacing anger in check. If he wanted to be able to study this ghost, if he wanted to bring Sherman and Alexandria back, he’d have to be as calm as possible.

Stan raised an eyebrow and looked to Ford. “Are you sure this is okay? This ghost isn’t too dangerous for the kids or anything?”

Ford frowned, pulling out the fuzzy dice from his back pocket. Immediately, Riley snapped to their location. “She’s tethered to these.” Ford said. “If she gets too dangerous, we set these on fire and she snaps back to San Francisco where she belongs.” Ford paused, eyeing the fuzzy dice in his hand, before giving them a quick shake.

“Ow! Hey, what are you doing?” Riley yelped as she was shaken with the dice.

“Plus, we can just do that. She’s not very strong, I don’t think she’s much of a threat.” Ford said.

“Alright…” Stanley began to shout, “Kids! Fiddleford! Family meeting!”

It didn’t take long for Dipper, Mabel, and Fiddleford to walk into the gift shop, Waddles following close behind. The pig was following Mabel, trying to get a bite of the granola bar in her hand.

“What’s goin’ on?” Fiddleford asked.

“Is that the ghost from last night?” Dipper said, pointing at Riley. “How’d you manage to get her out of that unicorn?”

“I’ll explain that to you later, Dipper. The ghost has something to say to us all.” Ford said, releasing the fuzzy dice and letting Riley float freely.

“Uh… O-okay…” Riley stammered, wringing her hands. “W-well, um… My name is R-riley. I’m from San Francisco… Uh… Oh lord how do I tell them this they’re so small…” Riley stopped to take the ghostly equivalent of a breath. “I was the driver of the other car.” She said, quickly.

Dipper’s face fell into a hardened glare, his fists clenched into fists. Mabel dropped her granola bar, her hand flying out to catch hold of Dipper’s, squeezing it tight. Fiddleford gasped, and put protective arms around the kids, trying to comfort them.

“H-hear me out! It was a freak accident… I c-came to apologize, it was all my fault!” Riley stammered. “Please, let me explain. I think I’m _supposed_ to explain.”

Dipper began to speak before Mabel put a hand over his mouth. “I wanna hear it.” She whispered.

Stan glowered at Riley, moving behind the kids to put a protective hand on their shoulders, almost daring her to make a move against them.

“Okay, s-so I was kicked out of my house by my parents… f-for something stupid. So I just started driving and I was upset and crying and I s-should have pulled over to the side of the road but I didn’t and I don’t know why I d-didn’t but I should have, it’s literally the biggest regret of my life. I-I miscalculated and went the wrong way. I saw the headlights and I panicked, and then the next thing I know I’m w-waking up in my car and I’m dead and I don’t know how I know but I… I k-killed your parents, and _I’m so sorry_. There’s nothing I can do to make up for it, but I thought you kids might want to know.”

Dipper held onto Mabel, who had gone limp with tears, fighting not to drop to the ground. Were their parents really killed over someone’s stupid mistake, someone else’s misjudgment? A white hot anger coursed through Dipper’s heart, setting his every thought ablaze.

“Get rid of her, Great Uncle Ford.” Dipper said through clenched teeth. “Get rid of her or let me do it _myself._ ”

Riley recoiled, her form shrinking and glitching. “I suppose that's about what I deserve.”

“That and _more_.” Dipper spat, clutching Mabel for dear life, livid that Riley had made her cry.

“What do we need to get rid of this thing?” Stan growled. “Holy water? Silver? You name it, I'll get it.” Stan was willing to make calls he never wanted to make, calls to the most notorious crime lords he'd ever met, if it could bring comfort to his niece and nephew.

“Wait…” Ford took a knee in front of Dipper and Mabel to look them in the eye. “I understand that you're feeling upset, but… If you allow Riley to stay here for a short while and allow me to study her, I might be able to figure out a way to bring back your parents. She's here, she's not attacking us and even if she was she's easily overpowered. It's ultimately your decision, if you tell me that you want her exorcised I'll exorcise her and we can be done with it. But please, if you'll at least let me _try.._.”

Mabel wiped her eyes and looked up at Ford. “D-do you think it'll help you? That you can find them as ghosts?”

“The fact that as a ghost she was able to travel here on her own, hundreds of miles from her haunt, is enough of a phenomenon on its own to be of some help.” Ford said.

“She can't help. You're lying, she couldn't even figure out how to get out of a unicorn last night.” Dipper crossed his arms

“...He's got a point there, I have no idea what I'm doing. Look, if you want me gone I understand, I'll go without a fight.” Riley said. _Nobody wanted me around when I was alive, either._

“There's more than one way to get information, I was thinking about going a more… ethically ambiguous route to get the information I need.” Ford said. “It'll be less of an interview and more of a ghostly guinea pig situation.”

”And this would bring them back?” Mabel asked again, unsure if she’d be okay with going along with Ford's plan.

“I can't say for certain. But it can't hurt to try, and if it doesn't work we can always exorcise her. You don't even have to be near her, I'll be doing all the work down in the basement, and if her being here makes you uncomfortable or upset, just say the word and we'll get rid of her.”

Mabel looked at Dipper, her eyes telling him _we have to let him try, it's the only chance we've got._ Dipper gave her a tiny nod, his face stone cold.

“It’s the least she could do.” He said, glaring at Riley. “Do your science thing, Great Uncle Ford. Let us know if you need any help.” He said, grabbing Mabel’s hand and leading her back into the kitchen, still steaming mad and hoping that some time alone would let him cool himself down.

“Ford, are you freaking serious?” Stan said, his hands clenched into fists.

Ford sighed, grabbing the mirror and shoving Riley inside. “Right now it's our only shot.” Ford said. Truth be told, he was more than a little uneasy about this. He'd been naive enough to trust Bill Cipher of all people, but that had been when Bill was actively lying to him, manipulating him and _trying_ to get on his good side. He'd sworn he'd never make that mistake again, but here he was, about to put the ghost of the person who killed Sherman and Alexandria Pines down in his basement. Ford knew it was safe, he knew that he could easily overpower Riley if it came to that, and he knew that this was their only option. There was no going back, but he couldn't choke down the nagging feeling that he was making the same mistakes he had all those years ago.

Fiddleford grabbed the other side of the mirror and gave Ford a soft half-smile. “I trust you, Stanford. You’ll let me know if you need help, won’t you?”

“Of course…” Ford said, wondering if Fiddleford really meant what he was saying.

“I don't care what you do, just keep that ghost away from the house and _away from the kids._ ” Stan spat, glaring in Riley’s direction. “I’ll trust you, but I won’t trust _her._ ” He turned to storm out of the room, kicking the door frame on the way out.

Ford’s heart sunk as he and Fiddleford walked down the steps to the basement, leaning against the wall of the elevator. “Fidds… do you think I’m making the right decision? To study Riley and get some answers?”

“Well, I reckon there’s no way to know unless we try. I trust that if this goes wrong, you’ll know when to quit.” Fiddleford said.

“Fiddleford, the last time something like this happened, it took you falling head first into the portal and a confrontation with a dream demon to let me know when to quit.”

“He fell through a _what_?” Riley’s voice filtered through the mirror, but she was ignored.

“And you’ve learned yer lesson, haven’t you?” Fiddleford raised an eyebrow. “Besides, I don’t think this kiddo here is anythin’ like that darn dirty demon, just by goin’ offa what you told me last night.” He said. “I mean, really, she’s probably seventeen, at most.”

“Turned seventeen in June.” Riley offered, her arms crossed. “Are you guys really having a conversation _about_ me right in _front_ of me? And are we referring to the illuminati demon from last night or are we talking about a different demon? Also, is this whole place hidden behind a goddamned vending machine? Who keeps a secret lair behind a vending machine? That’s what bookcases are for, man.”

“The vending machine wasn’t my idea, it was Stanley’s.” Ford said. “And yes, we’re talking about the same demon from last night.” He added, sighing.

“Look, hon, I know you just wanna do the right thing.” Fiddleford said as the elevator slowed to a halt, opening up on the third floor of the basement. “If this doesn’t work, then it doesn’t work, but I think not tryin’ would only make everyone feel worse, includin’ you. I don’t think you’d have even considered doin’ this if it there wasn’t even a tiny chance you might get somethin’ useful out of it.”

“I’ll do my best, I promise.” Riley offered. “I might not know what I’m doing with this whole ghost thing, but that kid was right. Helping you do some necromancer thing to get their parents back is the least I can do. Those kids deserve it.”

Ford managed a soft smile as he and Fiddleford carried the mirror into the basement, setting it up against the wall. “With any luck, this will work, and maybe Dipper and Mabel will find it in their hearts to forgive me for keeping you around.” He said, folding his hands, absentmindedly running his fingers over the fresh bandages.

 _And maybe then they’ll find it in their hearts to forgive me too._ Riley thought to herself.

Mabel sat at the kitchen table with Dipper, staring down at her phone in her hands. “Hey… Dipper? If I went out today, would you be ok by yourself? I’m feeling a little stir crazy.”

“W-Well… what do you mean?” Dipper asked.

“I mean I want to go out on a date with Pacifica. I promised I would last week....”

“Oh, well why didn’t you just say so? I thought you just wanted to go be by yourself for a while.” Dipper said, fidgeting with his hands.

“If you want me to stay home, I will!” Mabel said, fidgeting with her sweater sleeves. “I just need a change of scenery.”

“No, no I get it…” Dipper said, sighing. “I guess I’m just letting something Bill said get to me.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Mabel said, leaning her cheek in the palm of her hand.

“I-I don’t know.” Dipper said. “It’s stupid, forget I said anything.”

“No it’s not! Tell me.” Mabel gave Dipper a soft punch on the arm. “Whatever it is, I’ll understand. Bill said some a-awful stuff to me, too.”

“He said you didn’t care about me anymore, and that you were going to… leave me behind.” Dipper said. “I know he was lying and I know he was just saying it to be mean but I can’t get it out of my head.”

“He t-told me that same thing…” Mabel grabbed Dipper’s hand. “But I wouldn’t do that! I’d never do that!”

“I know… I just can’t stop thinking that you _might_ one day.” Dipper said, squeezing her hand tight.

“I won’t. I was s-scared that _you_ would want to leave _me_! You know I need you, Dipper.” Mabel said. “I mean, you’ve been hanging out with Ford and you spent pretty much all summer obsessing over the journals… and after what Bill said I started thinking maybe it doesn’t even matter what you really think of me, ‘cause Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford loved each other until Bill came along and ruined it.”

“What… exactly did Bill tell you, Mabel?” Dipper asked, scooting his chair closer to hers. “I know he said he drove Stan and Ford apart, after last night I’m pretty sure half the town knows, but…”

“He broke Grunkle Ford’s science project and blamed it on Grunkle Stan. A-And Grunkle Stan was a lot worse off than he let on when he was talking about it…” Mabel said. “I don’t know why but, he was in some kind of a-alley, and there was a k-knife to his throat, I think. Maybe… Maybe he was just in a really violent street play. Or maybe someone made him do that.” Mabel pulled her knees to her chest. “I just don’t wanna think about that stuff right now, I want to go hang out with Pacifica and pretend that everything’s okay.”

Dipper couldn’t help but gasp, to think Bill was behind everything, that he controlled Ford and Stan’s life for so long, it was diabolical. “So that’s why you were so scared last night. That’s why Ford and Stan were so upset.” Dipper gritted his teeth in anger, how dare Bill come between his uncles like that? “Listen, Mabel, Bill’s an asshole. He’s an evil, manipulative asshole and he’s _never_ gonna trick anyone in this family again, he’s never gonna tear us apart.”

“Are you _sure_? Grunkle Ford is the smartest guy we know and Bill tricked him. He tricked _you_. He tricked me and if it wasn’t for Ford… What if I fall for it again one day?” Mabel said.

“You won’t. No matter what, we’ll always be here so you’ll always know he’s lying.” Dipper said. “Now, do you want me to make you a checklist for your date with Pacifica?”

Mabel giggled a little and nodded “Sure, but I don’t really need it. I was thinking we could go ice skating or something.” She said.

“Mabel, you’ve never ice skated. You can barely roller skate.”

“Yeah, I know, but it might be romantic!” Mabel gushed.

“Mabel, the second you fall on your butt you’re going to hate it. Remember Jason’s birthday party? You held onto the bar the whole time.”

“I was _seven_ Dipper. I’m a _teenager_ now, I’m coordinated!” Mabel said, her hands on her hips.

“Mabel, I watched you choke on a granola bar, like, thirty minutes ago.” Dipper pointed out.

“You’re missing the point! If I go ice skating, and I’m bad at it, I get to _hold Pacifica’s hand._ ” Mabel said with a sly smile

“Oh. OH.” Dipper said. “I get it now. Maybe we should get Grunkle Stan in on this. He’s got all kinds of romantic tricks up his sleeves. Just don’t take his advice _too_ seriously. That’s how you get slapped. And almost ruin a good friendship.”

“Yeah, as a girl, I’m naturally better at romance than boys. I know what I’m doing.” Mabel said, nodding her head. “I mean, I’m kind of responsible for the longest lasting relationship in this whole house.”

“I think Ford and Fiddleford are doing most of the work on that one, though.” Dipper said.

“Yeah, but Ford wouldn’t have the guts to do it if I didn’t give him a little encouragement! From what I heard, that first date he had went swimmingly. I’m a dating master.” Mabel said. “Plus, how cute were they in their matching Halloween costumes, also my idea!”

Stan came in the kitchen, dressed down in his bathrobe, too angry to continue the rest of the day in pants. He reached into the fridge for a Pitt Cola when Mabel piped up in her sweetest voice, “Hey, Grunkle Stan? Would you drive me to the ice rink later today?”

“Huh?” Stan grunted, loosening his grip on the can he’d been squeezing just a little too tightly. “Yeah, sweetie. Whatever you want.”

Mabel hopped up from the table and tapped him on the shoulder. “Are you okay, Grunkle Stan?”

“M’fine, kiddo.” Stan said. “Are _you_ two alright?”

“Yeah, we’ll be okay. I, uh… actually wanted to ask you about something else. In private.” Mabel said, shuffling her feet.

“What is it? Mabel, you know you can always come to me and Ford, for anything.” Stan said, reaching down and grabbing her hand, allowing her to lead him into the living room.

Mabel sat on the floor in front of Stan’s easy chair as he took a seat and sighed. “Um… last night, in my scary dream, Bill told me that you were homeless… for a long time.”

“Uh, yeah…” Stan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I lived outta my car between sales gigs… I’m fine though! Everything was fine, it was like camping. I just didn’t feel like gettin’ a house, you know? I was a free spirit, out on the prowl!” He said, forcing a smile for Mabel’s sake.

“He showed me… well, you were sitting in a dark alley, and you were crying, and you had this knife held against your neck… And I wanted to know if that was real. If you were okay, or if someone made you do that, or maybe you were in a really scary movie that I didn’t know about…” Mabel started trailing off, trying not to get upset, she had a feeling she already knew the reason behind Stan's actions. Mabel sighed, leaning up against Stan’s legs.

Stan sighed, avoiding meeting Mabel in the eyes, and bent down to scoop her up, setting her down on his lap. “Listen, Mabel… For a long time, I was in a bad place on a dark road. The kind of road your mom helped people get off of. I didn’t want to tell you and Dipper ‘cause I knew it’d just make you upset.” He said, his heart sinking as he wrapped Mabel in a warm hug. “And I’m fine now…” _Relatively_. “I’m doin’ better than I was, but… I just want you to know that if you ever, _ever_ start feeling the way I did then you come _tell_ me, okay? And… I might have done some stupid things in the past… but I’d never do something that’d hurt you, or your brother, you got that?”

Mabel wrapped her little arms around Stan and nodded, leaning into the hug. “Yeah, I got it…”

“So what’s with you wantin’ to go to the ice skating rink today?” Stan asked.

“Well, I want to take Pacifica out on a date, I thought that might be a nice place to go.” Mabel couldn’t help but smile.

“Ah, planin’ on getting a slice of the Northwest’s financial pie, eh?” Stan said, winking. “Well I guess I could dust the snow off the old Stanley Mobile and drive you two down there. Schmooze the Northwests up, maybe pick Pacifica’s pockets.”

“Thanks, Grunkle Stan… but actually, Pacifica doesn’t wanna tell her parents just yet. I think we should just meet her up there.” Mabel looked down at her lap, hoping Stan wouldn’t have a problem with keeping things secret.

“Sure thing, kiddo.” Stan said. “Believe me, I know how to keep a secret, I’d be lying if I said I’ve never had to fudge the truth for a date’s family before.”

Mabel gave Stan a good squeeze and hopped down from his lap. “Thank you! I’m gonna go text her right now!”

“Just remember she’s still in school!” Stan called, leaning back against the chair.

Mabel ran to the kitchen to grab her phone, and then made a mad dash for the attic, calling out to Dipper, “I’m gonna go make plans to romance Pacifica! _Ice skating themed plans_!”

Mabel hopped on her bed and spent a good 20 minutes formulating the perfect text to send Pacifica, and settled on:

_hey paz :) its mabel do you wanna go ice skating with me after school today? i think its about time i took u on the date i promised <3 :D_

_Hello, Mabel. Aren’t you sick today? I haven’t seen you or Dipper all day today._

_actually we kinda played hooky today… we had some trouble with the house last night and we stayed up late._

_Oh no, is everyone okay? Was it that tree you were telling me about? Did another one hit your house? What does your house have to do with you skipping today?_

_well, something else broke because of all the construction and we were up late trying to get it fixed. dont worry too much about it, were all ok :)_

_Ok… so ice skating? My parents have a private rink, or there’s one in town I could have my chauffeur take us to. He’s in on it, I’m bribing him to keep quiet about this. I can meet you at around five? if my parents let me out of the house. I should be able to tell them I’m going to flaunt my wealth and have them be ok with it._

_yay! ill meet you at 5 then at the rink! <3_

_< 3 See you at five._

Mabel kicked her legs with happiness and hugged her phone to her chest, before jumping out of bed and rushing downstairs, squealing with delight. “Dipper! Dipper, are you still in the kitchen?! Dipper, she said yes!”

Dipper looked up from his book at the kitchen table and smiled. “That's great, Mabel. You're going out tonight?”

“Yep! At five, we're going skating, it's going to be magical, I just know it!” Mabel said. Dipper could practically see the stars in her eyes.

“That’s great, Mabel.” Dipper said, smiling. “I, uh, I hope you have fun. Promise me you’ll call if anything… if anything happens, right? And remember to double check her eyes, too.”

“Right. Right… I don't think she'd make a deal with Bill but if it'll make you feel better, I'll check her eyes.” Mabel said, nodding slowly. “Maybe you should have a friend over so you don't have to be all alone.” Mabel said, her hands behind her back, feeling guilty for leaving Dipper by himself.

“N-nah, I don't really have anyone I can invite. I was just gonna spend the night playing D, D, and More D with Great Uncle Ford.” Dipper said.

“What? Are you still hung up on thinking you don’t have friends?” Mabel said, her shoulders sagging. _I should have never said that._  “What about Wendy or Candy or even Thompson? You have so many friends!”

“W-well I guess I could invite Wendy over… but Thompson is out of the question, I'm not that desperate.” Dipper said. “Maybe she'll want to play Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons with us… Other than that I'm sure there are a million better things for a teenager to spend her Wednesday night than hanging out with some kid.”

“Dipper we're teenagers now too. Don't sell yourself short, you're fun to hang out with! You just have to put yourself out there and hang out with the people you want to hang out with!” Mabel said. “Who knows, maybe Wendy will want to play your nerd game with you and Grunkle Ford.” She added, shrugging. “Just… just remember that you've got lots of friends, okay? If all else fails, there's always Multibear, too! He might be hibernating though, do multibears hibernate?”

“I haven't asked? Though I might check into that…” Dipper said, stroking his chin. “He used to be some kind of forest spirit, I think, so I'm not sure he sleeps at all. Look… you want to get out of the house. So go get ready for your date, don't worry about me.”

Mabel threw her arms around Dipper and squeezed before running back up to the attic to get ready.

At four-thirty sharp, Mabel was ready for her date. She’d carefully chosen to wear silvery tights patterned with pretty snowflakes, a purple skirt that would twirl when she spun, a snowflake themed sweater and a big fluffy pink coat to match. She bounded down the stairs, two at a time, and nearly ran into Stan at the bottom.

“You ready to head out, kiddo?” Stan said, ruffling her hair.

“Yes, let's go, I don't want to be late!” Mabel said, rushing out the door with Stan's keys in her hand.

“W-Wait, you can’t drive, Mabel, slow down!” Stan called, pulling on his coat and following her outside into the snow.

Mabel laughed and used the keys to let herself into the car and buckle up, tossing the keys into the driver’s seat. “Come on, Grunkle Stan, let’s go!” She said, bouncing in her seat.

“I'm comin’!” Stan called as he made his way to the car at his own pace, trudging through the thick piles of snow around the Mystery Shack. He jiggled the car door handle to open it and flopped down in the seat with a sigh. “Lemme see if I can get the heater working, kiddo, it’s gonna be a little cold in here.” He said, giving the dashboard a solid punch and toggling the knob for the heater.

Mabel pulled out mittens from her coat pocket. “I’m fine! Really! Besides, I don’t want to take off my coat and if you turn on the heater I’ll get all sweaty.” She said, smiling wide as Stan started up the car.

“Alright, whatever you say.” Stan chuckled and carefully backed out of the driveway. “So… how long have you and Pacifica been a thing? This your first date?”

“I um… I asked her at the Halloween party. This will be our first official date.” Mabel said with a huge grin. “Things have been crazy lately, and I just needed to get out of the house for a while, and I figured this would be the perfect opportunity. I kinda miss Pacifica when I miss school.”

“So is she dropping you off back at home or am I picking you up?” Stan asked. “And I want you home by eight, sharp. If anything _at all_ goes wrong, call me right away, alright? You’ve got your phone, and I’ve got mine.” He said, pulling out his Nokia. “No pda or anything, no fooling around. And if Pacifica starts bein’ a jerk again, leave, okay?”

Mabel blushed and stared at her hands on her lap. “Grunkle _Stan_. I know, I know. She'll have me home by eight, and I'll call you, I promise.”

“Okay, kiddo.” Stan said, pulling out onto the main highway. “I just want you to be _safe_ , okay? Look, datin’ people, especially rich people, is risky business. Believe me. The second you don't feel comfortable, you let me or Ford know, one of us will come get you. We’d fight tooth and nail to keep you safe.”

“I know, that’s why I need to get out of the house…” Mabel said, leaning against the car window and staring at the winter scenery passing her by. “Grunkle Ford got hurt really bad ‘cause of me last night…”

“Sweetie, none of that was your fault. You were so _brave_ for going through all of that.” Stan said, keeping his eyes focused on the road in front of him, blinking back the tears in his eyes. “I don’t know exactly what happened back there, but if it’s anything like what happened to me… Kid, you’re somethin’ special, and Ford and I would go to hell and back for you and Dipper. Fiddleford would, too. Don’t ever feel bad about yourself ‘cause of that.” Stan said.

“I just don’t want anyone to get hurt… and everything at home is really stressful right now and I just need a break.” Mabel said. “And I really wanna spend time with Pacifica.”

Stan sighed and glanced at Mabel. “I know you mean well, Mabel. It’s okay to have something to distract you from all of this crazy stuff.” _You're lucky to have an escape._ Stan thought.

Ford stepped out of the elevator, rift in hand and adjusting his glasses, glaring at the green walls of his private study. This was risky, he knew Bill could see in this room if it wasn’t for the curtains, he hadn’t found the time (yes the time, not the courage) to take down the giant tapestries, the ornate statue, the wood carvings still in the floorboards, in Bill Cipher’s image, hidden under a rug. Ford’s free hand clenched into a fist, he was perfectly capable of handling himself in this room, _you and Fiddleford are down here every day, with no problems. Now isn’t any different._ He knew he was capable of looking at Bill’s image without the anger seething in his chest and spilling over like a lava flow, _scaring Dipper and causing him to panic_ , no… no Ford was just busy. A busy man with a nephew and niece-in-law to revive and a hole in space-time to sew back together. Kneeling underneath his old oak desk, Ford pulled out a sturdy safe, carefully opening the lock and placing the rift inside, padding it with a spongy material he’d developed down in his lab after he’d first contained the rift.  Furrowing his brow, Ford shut the safe, carefully as to not jostle the rift inside. Standing up, fists clenched, Ford turned to leave the room, before something in him snapped, for just a second. Ford spun around on his heel, reaching his hand into his pocket and pulling out a rod of ferrocerium, sprinting to the other side of the room and tearing a curtain from the wall, revealing the intricate tapestry of Bill Cipher’s image behind it, woven in the very room Ford was standing in, with his own hands. With an angry snarl and a few curses from languages he’d heard dimensions away, Ford ripped the tapestry from the wall, striking the ferrocerium rod and setting it ablaze, watching the tapestry burn and only bothering to stick around to make sure the fire ended when the tapestry did, that it didn’t burn the house to the ground while Ford had his back turned.

“Fuck you.” Ford spat, staring the image of Bill dead in the eye. “I’ll stop you, I’ll find another way to close the rift and then I’m going to _kill you_. I don’t care how immortal you say you are, I’m going to find a way to kill you for what you did to Stanley.” He said, dropping the tapestry to the floor as the flames came a little too close to his hand for comfort, stamping out a few wayward flames with his boot. “And then I’m going to get Sherman and Alexandria _back_.” Ford watched the flames die down silently, the smoke filling the room. He spat on the ashes before turning and leaving without another word, heading back down to the third floor of the basement.

Riley glanced around the eerie basement the best she could, curious and optimistic despite her situation, despite the fact that she was here because she’d taken two lives with her recklessness. She had to admit, although spooky, the basement looked kind of cool, like someone’s secret lair. _Who the hell even is this guy, anyways? Why the secret basement, and why disguise it with a tacky tourist trap of all things? Maybe this guy really **is** in the Illuminati and he did something to piss them off? That’s kinda badass… Also the weird gun thing that looked nothing like what guns are supposed to look like. That’s badass too. Damn, this mirror is boring. _

Ford trudged into the basement, pinching the bridge of his nose just hard enough to actually hurt in an attempt to control his anger, catching Riley’s attention. “Alright, Riley, let’s get started for the day.” He said, unable to disguise the low, angry tones in his voice.

Riley snapped to attention and made an effort to look as serious as possible. “A-alright, what do I need to do?”

“Let’s… start with finding out how much you know about your current situation, and determining your category level.” Ford said, picking up the mirror and adjusting it so he could get a better view from his chair. The mirror was a large, ornate one, classy and just Ford’s style. It had previously taken residence in Ford’s room, but had been moved to the living room so Ford could have ample space and lighting to repair a few cracks in the glass. “Tell me everything you know about what you, as a ghost, can do.”

“Well… apparently I can posses stuff? And I guess I go wherever those dice go.” Riley said, gesturing towards Ford’s coat, where she knew the dice were hidden from her view. “I woke up in my car, and I couldn’t leave for weeks. I couldn’t carry anything either, but eventually I got strong enough to lift those dice. Took a while for me to be able to carry them out of the car though. Then I started floating towards where the crash was, and figured they’d send the-- I’m sorry… I feel awful for asking but what were their names? I know it’s my fault they’re dead but I wasn’t exactly around to ever get to know that part.” Riley asked.

“Sherman and Alexandria Pines.” Ford said, the anger in his voice fading to sadness, sinking down in his seat, gripping the edge of his chair for dear life. “Sherman worked in computers, developing new operating systems. Alexandria was a therapist. They were brilliant. They were bringing Dipper and Mabel home from their joint bat mitzvah…” Ford trailed off, looking away.

“Oh my god…” Riley covered her mouth, feeling even worse than she already did. “It was those kids’ birthday… Their parents were taking them home from a party, with their family.” Her form, unable to properly react to her frayed emotions, fizzled and sparked, darkening the space in the mirror around her.

“...It wasn’t their birthday.” Ford said, not looking at Riley, resting his head in his hands, idly making a few notes in one of his journals. “The bat mitzvah is the Saturday after. It’s still important, though… It was important to them, it was important to all of us.

“Oh, crap, I’m sorry!” Riley said, mentally kicking herself. “I was raised Catholic… I uh… I get how religious stuff is really important.”

Ford sighed. “It can make or break a person.” He said. “ _Literally_.”

“That thing last night… you said it was a demon, right?” Riley asked. “So if demons are real, all that other stuff is too? Am I getting this right? Wait, if you’ve seen demons and shit, you probably know shit about like god and religion and... are Catholics wrong? About… gay people and stuff?”

“Is that why your parents kicked you out? Because of ‘gay people and stuff’?” Ford said.

“Y-yeah, pretty much…” Riley stammered. “How’d you guess?”

“You’re not the only one with awful parents, and you’re not the first person I’ve met who was kicked out for that reason.” Ford said. “Though you… _are_ the first one from this dimension.”

“Woah, really?” Riley said, excitement in her voice. “You’ve been to another dimension?!”

“Um… yes. Several. For thirty years.” Ford said. “It’s not as fun as it sounds.”

“So that’s why you’ve got a secret lair down here, you’ve got some kinda portal thing that lets you go wherever you want!” Riley said. “Can I see it? What does it look like?”

“It looks like the end of the world and it’s been dismantled.” Ford said, a bit louder than he’d intended, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration. “I studied the paranormal for six years before I fell through the portal, then I spent the next thirty wandering the multiverse. Unlike you, I know what I’m doing.” Ford said, noting Riley’s behavior in his journal, writing down what topics made her upset, and potentially more powerful if she was anything like the Duskertons, and which ones made her more complacent. “...Based on what you’ve told me so far, I’d say you’re a category five ghost. At least. It’s hard to tell because you’re weak from being so far away from your haunt.” He said, trying to change the subject.

“Category five, huh? How high does that scale go, anyways? How do you figure that kinda thing out?” Riley asked.

“It’s on a scale of one to ten, with ten being the most powerful and dangerous. You’re capable of possessing non-human organisms, you’re capable of physically interacting with and manipulating aspects of your haunt to a very high degree, but you’re not quite strong enough to do any lasting damage, or use some sort of themed magic or create a curse.” Ford explained.

“And wait, thirty years?” Riley continued, only half listening to what Ford was saying. “That means you haven’t been in this dimension since, what, the eighties? Wait, _science_ happened between the eighties and now. How much did you miss?” Riley asked. “Uh, let me think for a sec… do you know they found planets outside our solar system?”

“I’ve been in an alien spacecraft from the other side of the galaxy before.” Ford said. “I knew there were planets outside our solar system before those yahoos up at NASA had time to calibrate their telescopes.”

“WAIT WHEN DID THE SOVIET UNION SPLIT UP?!” Riley exclaimed, not having heard Ford's explanation. “Was it the nineties? I think it was the nineties.”

“The Soviet Union did _what?_ ”

“Woah! You have to get on the internet right now and see the video of the Berlin Wall coming down! ...You know about the internet, right?”

“The Berlin Wall… did what?” Ford asked. “And _yes_ , I know about the internet. It’s actually pretty sophisticated, even if the hardware isn’t anywhere near where it could have been if Fiddleford had gotten to it back in the day. It’s not unlike other technologies I’ve seen throughout the multiverse, but it’s definitely the most social one in its class.” Ford said. “They really tore down the Berlin Wall?”

“Yeah! A bunch of citizens and even soldiers I think got hammers and bulldozers and literally tore down the wall. It was very punk.” Riley said. “Seriously, though, you’ve gotta look it up, cause people like, got to reunite with their families for the first time in almost thirty years and everyone seems so _happy_ and like… Dude are you alright?”

Ford had gone still, his hands clenching into fists, taking deep breaths and trying to steady his nerves. He was not going to panic in front of this ghost, he was not going to get upset in front of this ghost, he was not going to think about how the threat of nuclear war was no longer looming over everyone’s heads, he was not going to think about how the citizens of Glass Shard Beach had accused him of being a communist on top of every other insult they’d hurled at him, how Stanley was the only one who’d stood by him during those particular witch trials. He wasn’t going to think of those first few townspeople he’d met in Gravity Falls, gawking at his hands and not paying any heed to the recently acquired PhD’s he was so proud of. They’d thought he was a communist for his first five years until their fear and paranoia had grown into a complacent curiosity, he’d refused to go into town for anything other than basic necessities (and a surprisingly large amount of canned beans) after that , even after Fiddleford had shown up to help with the portal. He wasn’t going to think about his awful reunion with his family after so long, how it was only awful because he’d made it so, how it could have been a happy one if he'd just opened his eyes. No, no, he was not going to think about that right now, he was here to get answers, not to hash through long buried emotions.

Riley waved her hand across the surface of the mirror, “Hello? Weird Science? You okay in there?”

“Stanford.” Ford said, squeezing his eyes shut, still not looking at Riley. “It’s Stanford Pines. _Doctor_ Stanford Pines.”

“Sorry… I should have formally asked. Stanford… are you gonna be okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Dude, thirty years of alternate dimensions and shit was probably rough, especially if you couldn’t get back home.” Riley said. “Don’t let me make you uncomfortable. I’m serious, turn the mirror around, shake the dice again, I don’t care, just don’t sugarcoat anything ‘cause I’m a kid, okay? I’m already dead, you said it yourself it’s not like I’m in any real danger.”

“It’s pride. Not pity.” Ford said, glaring at Riley. “I’m not going to let my emotions get in the way of my work. And I’m not going to display them in front of the likes of you.”

“S-sorry… Strictly professional then. Got it.” Riley stammered.

“So why are you here?” Stanford asked. “Every ghost has a drive, an obsession. It could be something as simple as moving every plate from one side of a room to another, or as complex as placing a ten thousand year curse on someone’s family name. What’s _yours_?” He said, composing himself and staring at Riley, a cold and calculating look in his eyes.

Riley paused to gather her thoughts before speaking, taking care not to say anything that would make Ford upset. “W-well… I fucked up, I did something stupid and ruined those kids’ lives. I just want to do everything and anything I can to make it right again.”

Ford was speechless, once again, staring at the notes he’d taken so far, pen on the page but not writing anything down. Not yet.

“And yeah, I get what you’re saying about every ghost having an obsession. Cause it’s like a broken record up here,” She said, gesturing to her head. “Saying ‘do whatever it takes to get those kids justice’ over and over again.”

“...That’s why you didn’t put up a fight when Dipper and Mabel wanted to exorcise you.” Ford said, quietly. _That’s why I didn’t try harder to get back home_...

“I guess I kinda deserve it. If that’s what you guys want to do to me, so be it.” Riley said, shrugging in acceptance of her fate. “Sometimes, people just need revenge, you know?”

Ford swallowed a lump in his throat, tapping one finger against the page and writing Riley’s words down. _That’s why I’d given up hope of ever finding this place again, I was ready to die over there, the only thing I wanted was a halfway decent universe to do it in…_

_Maybe it really was a mistake…_

Riley stayed silent, her form softly glowing in the mirror, wearing an expression of genuine concern. “You’ve, uh… you’ve been really quiet for a while now.”

“Why did your parents kick you out?” Ford asked, keeping his voice even. “Give me the full story, please.”

Riley heaved a sigh and folded her hands in front of her, her ghostly tail curling around her. “I guess it’s sort of a long story. I figured out I was trans when I was just a kid, probably a little younger than your niece and nephew... And it was _terrifying_. My parents wanted me to be the perfect son, put me in sports, wouldn’t let me grow out my hair, god forbid I _touch_ anything pink or frilly. So I got kinda used to having to pretend that I was okay with it. So I was on the basketball team in high school, and I don’t know… I guess I just kinda clicked with a few of the cheerleaders, and we all became friends. They started inviting me to parties, lending me their clothes, taking me shopping… It was the first time I started feeling like myself. My parents just assumed I was a ladies man, and… they weren't too far off?” Riley chuckled softly to herself. “There was one girl, her name was Leah, we were _really_ close. I loved her. She supported me, made me feel like the girl I wanted to be, she kept my secret. Guess I should have done a better job on my end though… My mom found some clothes Leah had let me borrow in my laundry. They accused me of adultery, and they weren’t completely wrong, but I panicked and decided this was the perfect time to come out. My dad hit me… called me some really shitty things. My mom cried. I… I hated making her cry. Then they gave me the boot...” The space in the mirror around Riley was growing dark, clouded over, barely flickering with a teal blue energy, but Ford didn’t bother logging the phenomenon. “I was driving to Leah’s house when I hit Sherman and Alexandria. I hope my parents don’t blame her for what _I_ did.”

“...They never arranged a funeral. Did they?” Ford said.

“I think they donated my body to science.” Riley said. “Before I left for here, cause I don’t know how but I _knew_ I had to go _here_ , I stopped by the cemetery… Our family’s got a plot there, for my grandpa, and I wasn’t there. I was an organ donor anyway…”

Ford frowned, making a few notes in his journal, before leaning back in his chair. “...Is that what you would have wanted?”

“I guess? I mean, I don’t hate them for not burying me, if that’s what you’re asking.” Riley said. “It just hurts a little that there wasn’t even a marker for me… But it’s not like I’m really _gone_ gone, so it’s… it’s not a big deal. And it’s not like I was ever going to go back there anyways.” She shrugged and crossed her arms.

“So you didn’t form from a botched funeral then…” Ford said, breathing a tiny sigh of relief. “There might just be hope yet, if we can figure out what Sherman and Alexandria would have to obsess over… After they died, there was nothing wrong with the funeral, or Shiva, we did everything correctly to the best of our abilities. For a while there, I was worried that _that_ was why we hadn’t encountered their ghosts yet.”

“So we’ve just gotta figure out if they had any unfinished business, and you test out some sort of necromancer thing on me, then you use it on Sherman and Alexandria, and then everything goes back to normal for you guys?” Riley asked. “...Are they already ghosts or something?”

“I’m not sure, it’s entirely possible.” Ford said. “In this family… Let’s just say we go to extreme length to protect each other, if Sherman and Alexandria felt any of us were in danger, and last night was proof that we were, they’d claw their way back from the depths of the afterlife itself to come help. If they _are_ ghosts, getting them _here_ would be extremely difficult. Not every haunt comes apart in bits and pieces like yours did. And even the ones that do, actually taking a piece could be extremely dangerous. If they were haunting the hospital, for instance. Stealing medical equipment isn’t wise, to say the least. And if they were haunting the house, taking an item from there is likely a hit and miss. It would have to be something they're tied to, and taking something from a haunted house always has a risk of turning into a curse.”

“I think I’m starting to get this whole ghost thing.” Riley said. “So… what now? Do you have all the info you need, are we gonna get into the weird science witchcraft stuff now?”

Ford glanced at the clock he’d fixed up after the last time he’d lost track of time down there, noting that it was nearly six. “I think that’s all for today. I should help Stanley with dinner. You’re staying _put_ until then.” He said, not nearly as much malice in his voice as he’d have liked, not as much as there was before at least. “I’ll go out on an expedition soon to gather materials and we can begin testing within the next few days.”

“Um… Okay. I'll just chill out here. Good talk.” Riley offered a small smile, watching Ford turn and leave without another word.

Stan waited in the car with Mabel in the ice rink parking lot, until the familiar black limousine pulled up right next to them. A tall, lanky old man with a large, upturned nose and a balding head stepped out of the limousine first, opening the door for Pacifica to step out, handing the chauffeur a large wad of cash as she did so. Mabel's eyes went wide when she saw Pacifica, looking like an absolute dream in a long sleeved sequin dress and sparkling silky scarf, decked out in shades of violet. Mabel scrambled out of the car to greet Pacifica, almost dinging Stan's car door against the limo in the process and wrapping her in a big hug.

“Pacifica! You look so cute, I love your scarf!” She said, the words tumbling from her mouth.

Pacifica wrapped her arms around Mabel in return and quickly squeezed. “Thank you. I um, brought you something.” She turned to reach back inside the limo and pulled out what seemed to be a sparkly pink shoe box.

“What!? I didn't bring you anything, Paz, you didn't have to!” Mabel exclaimed, gently taking the box from Pacifica. The opened the lid and gasped at the glittery pink ice skates inside. “Oh my god!”

“My parents used to make me take skating lessons, and I didn't know if you had any skates, so I brought you some of mine. I’m not going to let you use smelly skates thousands of other people have used.” Pacifica said, her back straightening a little bit on instinct at the mention of her parents.

“That's so nice, Pacifica. Thank you.” Mabel grinned, holding the box of skates to her chest preciously. “Ready to go in?”

Stan cleared his throat and tapped Mabel’s shoulder, handing her a twenty dollar bill. “For dinner.” He said. “And Pacifica, I want her home by eight. Sharp. A minute after and you’ll have us all worried sick about Mabel, and trust me you _don’t_ want that.”

“Y-yes, Mr. Pines.” Pacifica nodded. “We’ll be prompt.”

“Alright. You kids have fun, Mabel, I’ll see you when you get home, okay?” Stan said, ruffling Mabel’s hair.

Mabel gave Stan a quick hug before taking Pacifica’s hand and dragging her to the building, exclaiming, “Let's go skate!”

Pacifica smiled, leading Mabel to the ticket booth stationed just inside the rink’s heavy metal doors. “First we have to pay to get in, and put on our skates.” She said.

“Okay!” Mabel pulled out her small, hand knitted change purse where she kept her allowance, until Pacifica pushed her hand away, and presented her own cash for the tickets.

“Two tickets, please. Keep the change, it’s not like I need it.” Pacifica said. “I use twenties to wipe my nose.” She added, a smug look on her face.

“Wow, Pacifica, you didn't have to do that! I have my own money.” Mabel said, blinking along with the shocked ticket salesman. “Thank you.”

“First rule of having money, Mabel: if you’ve got it, _flaunt it_.” Pacifica said, pulling another wad of cash from her purse and flicking it into a makeshift fan.

“Pacifica, you don’t have to try and impress me.” Mabel shrugged as they sat down to put in their skates.

“I know, I just like to.” Pacifica said. “Along with the rest of the town.”

Mabel carefully put on the skates and laced them up tight. “Are they supposed to feel tight?”

“They might not be the right size, but yeah, they’re supposed to be a little tight. Here, wiggle your toes so I can check where they are.” Pacifica said, leaning down to check the skates, feeling where Mabel’s toe was underneath the expensive leather. “You should be fine, if you feel blisters though, let me know and we’ll rent you a pair in the right size.”

“Thanks.” Mabel smiled and attempted to stand, the rubber stoppers on the blades helping her a little.

“So, have you at least been roller skating before?” Pacifica asked, standing with ease and steadying Mabel.

“I've been before, but it's been a while. You might have to hold my hand.” Mabel said with a wink, grinning from ear to ear.

“Well, now I know your evil plan.” Pacifica said. “But it’s pretty similar to roller skating, especially if you learned on inline skates.”

“It can't be too hard, right?” Mabel said as Pacifica led her out to the ice.

“Right.” Pacifica said. “Though I did have three high grade professional trainers who are top ranked in each of their respective countries and have five Olympic gold medals apiece to teach me.” She said.

“Wow! Are you any good?” Mabel asked, her legs wobbling as she gripped Pacifica's arm.

“My parents took me out of competition after I won second place.” She said, keeping her voice low.

“What? Why? You got second place, that's pretty good!”

“No one aims for silver.” Pacifica said, the old adage tripping off her tongue before she had time to think. “But I suppose I did pretty well.”

Mabel smiled. “That's more like it. Did you learn twirls and jumps and stuff? I wanna learn how to do that kind of stuff!”

“Of course.” Pacifica said, holding her head up high. “I can show you, if you like. But we’ve only got a few hours, we should start with the basics for today.”

“Okay! I just want to look like a figure skater.” Mabel said. “They’re always so sparkly.”

“I'm sure you'd make a good one. And if not, you’d be pretty good at designing their costumes and stuff.” Pacifica said, leading Mabel out onto the ice, sticking close to the guard rail. “Alright now take off the rubber stoppers.”

Mabel held onto the bar and took the stoppers off, pocketing them in her coat. “Okay…” Mabel laced her fingers with Pacifica’s, struggling to stand steady.

“Alright, you're doing good. Now just let go of the guard rail and push off with one foot, then just keep doing that. Like walking but with knives. And on ice.”

“Walking on knives? Grunkle Ford would like this.” Mabel chuckled to herself and carefully pushed off on one of her feet and took tiny little gliding steps on her own, before wildly flailing her arms and losing balance, “Oh crap, Pacifica, help!”

Pacifica glided over to Mabel with ease, taking her hand and spinning them both back towards the guardrail to avoid one of them falling. Mabel put an arm around Pacifica’s waist for balance and laughed, “Woah, you’re quick!”

Pacifica laughed. “Of course I'm quick. Just… Try doing it with me this time, then once you're off let go.” She said, gripping Mabel’s hand firmly.

Mabel nodded and kept a firm hold on Pacifica’s hand, pushing away from the rail once more, Pacifica helping to keep her balanced.

“Okay, Mabel. Now let go.” Pacifica said, gently trying to pull her hand away without tripping Mabel.

“Nope!” Mabel blurted as her legs wobbled, “You’re keeping me afloat!”

“Mabel, if you don't let go you'll never learn how to do it on your own.” Pacifica said. “You can't twirl around and do flips and stuff if you're holding my hand the whole time, you know.”

“What about those guys in the Olympics? They hold hands and do spins all the time!” Mabel retorted.

“Yeah but they learned how to do it on their own first. Trust me, it's a lot harder to twirl if you're holding someone's hand on your first try.”

Mabel pouted and let go of Pacifica’s hand, gliding a few paces on her own, leaving her hands extended at her sides. “Look! Pacifica! I'm doing it!”

Pacifica stayed close behind Mabel in case she needed to catch her, and smiled, “I told you!” Mabel’s laugh was music to Pacifica’s ears, she had never heard anything so genuine and sweet, so… _real._ Everything about Mabel was refreshing and endearing to Pacifica, it was so easy to fall under Mabel’s spell. And Pacifica was completely okay with it.

“So what now? Wait! Wait! How do I turn? How do I turn?!” Mabel yelled, heading straight for the wall.

“Lean to the side! Shift your weight!” Pacifica called, skating around Mabel to help her steer.

Mabel put her weight on one side and teetered over, half way between turning and falling. Pacifica reached out to grab her hand in order to keep her balanced, blushing a little as she did so. Mabel squeezed Pacifica’s hand and cheered when she managed a sloppy turn.

“See? There you go, you're a natural.” Pacifica said, nodding her head.

Mabel kept her fingers laced with Pacifica’s and made easier, more coordinated strides alongside her. “You’re gonna have to show me all the fancy tricks you can do.” Mabel said.

“I don't know, I mean, I'm better than everyone here, but as much as I hate to admit it, I'm not the _best there is_. You know?” Pacifica said. “Who wants to see a Northwest in second?”

“I do. I wouldn’t care if you came in last place.” Mable said simply. “As long as you're trying your best, that's what makes you a real winner.”

“I wish more people were like you…” Pacifica said.

Mabel came to a halt to look Pacifica in the eyes. “Some people suck at seeing the good in people, they only wanna see the bad stuff. I think Grunkle Ford is really bad at seeing good in people, even though he's a good person he acts all… surprised and weird whenever someone tells him that he is, or whenever someone else is being nice. And just cause they suck at it doesn't mean they get to hurt your feelings, cause Grunkle Ford never hurts my feelings even though he doesn't really trust me.”

“Mabel… I don’t get it. I was so mean to you last summer, and you still like me, you think I’m a lot nicer than I really am.” Pacifica huffed.

“You’re not nice to _everyone_ , but you are to the people you care about. You think you’re good at hiding it, but I catch you. Everyone deserves a second chance.” Mabel took Pacifica’s other hand and smiled wide.

 _Not everyone._ Pacifica thought. _Not my parents or any other Northwest. Our family name is broken and me pulling that lever didn't exactly fix it._ “...Thanks, Mabel. Come on, let's go see if they serve milkshakes at the concession stand.”

“If I buy milkshakes, will you do a trick for me?” Mabel said, folding her arms and gliding to a halt next to the guard rail.

“I'm buying the milkshakes… but I _guess_ I could do _one_ trick.” Pacifica said.

“Fine. But the next date is on me, okay?” Mabel sighed as she escaped the ice, sitting down on a bench to replace the rubber stoppers on her blades.

“We’ll see about that.” Pacifica said with a wave of her hand, transitioning from the ice to the normal floor with ease. “So, what flavor do you like? Chocolate? Vanilla? Strawberry?”

“I usually can’t decide! I really like strawberry, but I like chocolate and vanilla too. What do you like most?”

“Well… I like strawberry the best.” Pacifica said.

“Strawberry it is!” Mabel smiled, linking arms with Pacifica.

Pacifica laughed softly to herself, leading Mabel to the concession stand on the opposite end of the rink.

Robbie Valentino leaned on the concession counter, mindlessly scribbling some song lyrics on old receipt paper. It was a slow day at work and he couldn’t wait to get off and spend some time watching subbed anime and being angsty alone in his room. He was pleasantly surprised to see Girl-Dipper and The-Rich-Northwest-Kid show up, but didn’t let it show outwardly. “Hey, kid, what are you doing here?”

“I’m here with Pacifica as--” Mabel glanced towards Pacifica, waiting for a nod of approval that never came, just a quick shake of her head. “As a teacher… She’s teaching me how to do twirls and stuff.”

“Cool. But lemme guess, you wanna buy something?” Robbie said, pushing his greasy bangs out of his face. “I could give you a discount or whatever.” He shrugged. He could tell there was something between the two girls, they were awful at hiding it but no one in town particularly cared, especially since Pacifica was loaded. And after all Mabel had done for him and Tambry, the least he could do was keep her secret and get her a discount shitty pretzel.

“Aw, thanks, Robbie! How are you and Tambry doing?”

“Pretty good. My name in her phone is just the heart eyes emoji, so I think we’re pretty serious.” Robbie said, shrugging. “Seriously, kid. I can’t thank you enough for what you did. It was like _magic_ or something.”

Mabel chuckled nervously and shoved her hands in her pockets. “Yeahhh… Anyway, Can we get a strawberry milkshake? Two straws?”

Robbie resisted the urge to roll his eyes at how obvious Mabel and Pacifica were being and rang up their order on the register. “Anything else? Wanna pretzel or something? Corporate is makin’ us push them cause they sell more drinks.”

“Grunkle Stan makes us do that too!” Mabel said. “And yes please, I’m hungry!” She said, slapping her twenty on the countertop before Pacifica could blink.

Robbie rang the two up and gave Mabel her change quickly. “Alright gimme a minute and I’ll get that shake and whatever.” He said, handing the girls two large pretzels in a bag.

Mabel took her pretzel and took a huge bite while she waited for Robbie to make the milkshake. Pacifica examined her pretzel closely before taking a cautious bite. It was greasy, and salty, saltier than anything she’d ever been allowed to eat. She _loved_ it.

Robbie took his time to actually make the milkshake good, putting in more effort than he usually would, and presented it with two straws on the counter. “Here you go. Have a nice day or whatever.”

“Thank you, Robbie!” Mabel took the milkshake and waved at Robbie with her pretzel still in hand. “Have a good weekend!”

“Heh, you too, kid.” Robbie said, before getting back to scribbling on the receipt paper.

Mabel hobbled over to a table with Pacifica, struggling to stay upright in her skates, having to lean on Pacifica for balance. “So… what did I miss in school today?”

“Nothing special. But everyone was wondering where you and Dipper were… The gym coach told me to tell you he’s got all your homework already so all you have to do is stop by his office before school and pick it up.” Pacifica said, shrugging.

“That's nice of him! I think he's probably Dipper's favorite teacher, even if he won’t really admit it.” Mabel said.

“What did you guys do during the blizzard?” Pacifica asked. “My parents made all the butlers shovel the lawn while we sat on the balcony drinking expensive tea, watching. Mom wouldn’t let anyone leave, she said we had to look ‘intimidating’ or something. I think it’s stupid but I guess the snow was pretty nice?”

“Yeah, we stayed home and watched movies all day, it was pretty fun. Grunkle Ford had never seen any of the new Star Wars movies, so that was interesting.”

“What is Star Wars even about?” Pacifica asked. “I know the helmet guy is someone’s father but that’s about it. Mom and Dad only let me watch classical films.”

“Star Wars _is_ a classic! You'll have to come over and watch them with us, it’s hard to explain. They're kinda long but really cool. I think you would like Princess Leia.” Mabel said. “Then again… she’s kind of the only girl so I guess there’s not much of a choice? You might like her mom though, but she doesn’t come in until later. Grunkle Ford would be able to explain it better.”

“Weird… I guess I could watch it and see if it’s as good as you say it is. You usually have good taste.” Pacifica said, making Mabel blush. She took a sip of the milkshake and was surprised at how good it tasted, despite the cheap price. “Uh… this is really good, but you can have the rest of it.” She said, nudging the shake towards Mabel. “I've already fudged my diet enough this week.”

“Are you worried about your parents finding out…? I don’t think they will.” Mabel said, sipping on the shake, “You don’t look like you’ve gained weight or anything.”

“Yeah, but I have to weigh myself every day.” Pacifica said. “And keep track of my calories, and if one ounce is out of place, one calorie too many, I get in trouble. I have an appearance to keep up, and I have to stay healthy.” She said. “And milkshakes aren't healthy.”

“It’s not like you eat junk all the time, it’s okay in moderation… I think you’d look perfect no matter what you ate.”

“...Thanks, Mabel.” Pacifica said. “Still, keep the rest of the shake. It looks too overt to have us both share it like this.”

“Sorry…” Mabel frowned, picking at her pretzel. It really hurt to see Pacifica so worried about how other people perceived her, and she knew that whatever Pacifica’s parents would do if something wasn’t up to their standards would be dire. Mabel had always been comfortable in her body, she never worried about gaining or losing weight, the whole concept didn’t make any sense to her. The diet Pacifica was _on_ didn't even make any sense to her, everything her mother and Wendy and Stan and Ford had ever told her about how the human body worked pointed to the idea that Pacifica’s diet wasn't necessary, let alone healthy. Heck, Ford had been on what Mabel dubbed “the who knows what diet” for the past thirty years and he was fit as a fiddle. Mabel could sense Pacifica growing anxious from the subject and quickly thought of a way to change it. “So… What are your plans for the holidays?”

“Well, on Thanksgiving break, my family is throwing a big banquet, and we’re going on a tropical cruise this Christmas. I just hope I don’t get another sunburn this year.” Pacifica sighed.

“You go on a cruise for Christmas? That’s pretty cool!” Mabel mused. “Is that a normal Christmas thing?”

“I guess? It's normal for us, anyways. Most people stay at home.” Pacifica said. “So you guys never celebrate Christmas?”

“No. We'd go to Christmas parties for school and stuff, but we didn’t celebrate it at home. Eight days of presents is way better.” Mabel giggled. “Even if you're limited to just those eight. Christmas decorations are really pretty though, Dad used to let us decorate for the holidays with lights and stuff…” Her face faltered as she trailed off, shrinking in on herself.

Pacifica slowly reached out, grabbing Mabel’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry, Mabel…”

“N-no, it’s okay.” Mabel put her smile back on. _Maybe Grunkle Ford will have them back in time for Hanukkah this year_. _Maybe he'll be able to use… use the ghost to get mom and dad back, just like he promised._ “I think Grunkle Stan opens up the Mystery Shack for Christmas, so I’ll probably still be able to decorate.

“That's great. I wish I could be there to see it. You'll have to text me pictures, okay?” Pacifica said, giving Mabel a smile.

“Okay, I will! And I think it's time _you_ showed me that trick you promised.” Mabel said, nudging Pacifica’s arm.

“Alright, just one.” Pacifica said, standing up and stretching her arms before walking back over to the ice, peeling the rubber stoppers off her skates before leaping onto the ice, circling the rink faster than Mabel could blink. She made quick strides around the rink to pick up speed, skating backwards before bending her knees, taking her arms back, and jumping into the air, turning three and a half turns in midair before landing. Mabel had never seen anything look so effortlessly graceful in her entire life, Pacifica floated in the air like an angel, and Mabel broke out in boisterous applause, soon joined by everyone in the rink.

Pacifica stopped in her tracks, not expecting any applause, and took a graceful bow. “Thank you, thank you. I'm great, aren't I?” Pacifica skated back over to Mabel, smirking as the applause continued. “I guess I really am good.”

Ford slowly emerged from the basement, running his fingers through his hair and adjusting his hold on the notes he’d managed to take that day. The gift shop was quiet, the lights were off, and the only noise came from the wind outside. Ford sighed, staring at the gaudy, overpriced, homemade merchandise Stan insisted stay on the shelves even though the Mystery Shack was closed until Christmas, walking over to a fake taxidermy sculpture of a vulture with four wings and a top hat. The craftsmanship was shoddy at best, but even Ford could tell that it was impressive considering Stanley had essentially taught himself, and to be honest, Ford had grown a little fond of the figure. He couldn’t place why, exactly, but at the very least, Ford hoped that it wouldn’t be sold any time soon. Ford leaned against the wall, thumbing through his notes and lost in his reverie, when he heard a knock at the door.

“Hey! Dippingsauce! Dr. Pines?! Anyone home? It’s freezing out here, lemme in!” Wendy’s voice filtered through the door.

“Wendy?” Ford asked, opening the door with one hand and balancing his notes in the other. “What are you doing here?”

“Dipper texted, wanted me to come over. I’m here to get out of doing trig homework, watch old crappy movies, and I think he said something about video games?” Wendy said, shrugging. “I’m cool with whatever, as long as I get to raid the fridge before I go.” She said, taking off her bomber hat and leather jacket, tossing them over Ford’s head and onto the register counter.

“...Okay? I’m not sure where Dipper is, or Stanley for that matter. I’d try in the living room first.” Ford said, shutting the door behind Wendy.

“Thanks, Doc.” She pointed a finger gun in his direction as she walked into the house. Dipper was curled up on the couch, watching a Ghost Harassers rerun and absentmindedly eating out of a bag of chips.

“Oh, Wendy!” Dipper said, jumping up a bit. “S-Sorry I wasn’t there to let you in, I got distracted, you know?”

“It’s cool, man, your uncle let me in.” Wendy said, shrugging and plopping down on the floor. “So what’s the agenda for tonight?”

“Well, right now we’re just waiting for Grunkle Stan to get back with dinner.” Dipper said. “I think he’s gonna bring us Chinese food.”

“Nice! You just wanted to chill out and watch TV?” Wendy asked, rooting around in her bag, “I brought over some video games. Let’s see, we’ve got Wind Waker, Fauna Intersection, Taxonomy Hunters 5, Tiger Fist: The Video Game, and Fight Fighters 7.” She said, pulling out a few cases and cartridges. “Seriously, dude, take your pick.”

“Wow, some of these are really old!” Dipper said, carefully grabbing Wendy’s copy of Wind Waker. “Is this the original or the HD rerelease?” He asked.

“It’s the original.” Wendy said, smirking. “You could say that it’s the _ship_.”

Dipper fought to suppress a laugh, and said, “Let’s start playing, The Used To Be About History Channel has really gone to _ship_ lately.” He stood up from his chair, turning off the TV so he could plug in an old game cube. Wendy placed the disc in and turned the system on, the synthetic orchestral theme of Wind Waker starting up, displaying a flying red boat set against a peaceful sky.

“So you wanna get that bird pear or what?” Wendy asked, leaning back against the chair and starting the game.

“Bird… pear?” Dipper asked, picking up the controller.

“You’ve never done the bird pear?! Dipper, you need the bird pear to finish the game!” Wendy said. “Okay, go to the shop and buy a Hyoi Pear, then stand on the beach and use it.”

“Okay…?”

“Trust me, Dipper.” Wendy said.

Dipper chuckled and followed Wendy’s instructions. When Dipper used the pear, he was surprised to find that he’d taken control of a seagull. “Holy… _ship_.” Dipper said, laughing at his own joke. “Am I a seagull now? Is that what's happening?”

“Yeah man! Try flying around.” Wendy said. “Wanna pop in Fight Fighters 7 after this? I have the version with extra violence.”

“Wendy? Did you find him?” Ford's voice filtered through the hallway as he slowly walked into the living room, holding a large mug of coffee. “...What is that?”

“O-Oh! Just a video game.” Dipper said. “Nothing much, just Wind Waker, you probably wouldn't like it.”

“Video game?” Ford asked, raising an eyebrow and taking a seat on the floor next to Wendy. “This looks… a bit sophisticated for a video game.”

“Oh, dude, that's right. While you were gone video games went from 2-D 8 bit to like, cgi masterpieces overnight. Wind Waker was like, the first game that really hit it off, though.” Wendy said. “Came out in the nineties I think? Wanna play, dude?”

“Uh, Wendy, I think my Uncle has a lot of _very important_ research to do.” Dipper said, fidgeting with the controller. He knew that Ford didn’t care much for family entertainment, the closest thing Ford ever came to having fun was when he was playing Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons. “He probably doesn't have time for this stuff.”

“I’m taking a break right now. I think I’d like to try… if you don’t mind, Dipper.” Ford said, taking a seat next to Dipper. _He's nervous… but why? The only other people here are Wendy and myself. Unless… no, Dipper’s not scared of me... Right?_

“Uh, well… um…” _He probably thinks it’s more sophisticated than it is._ “I mean, if you want to, but really, it's just a game--” To his relief, Dipper’s stalling was cut short by the sound of the front door opening.

“Alright, gremlins, I brought some dinner home!” Stan peeked out from behind the big paper bags full of takeout. “Oh, Wendy, Didn’t know I’d be feeding you too. Good thing I swiped some extras when they weren't looking.”

“Thanks, Mr. Pines!” Wendy said, hopping up to help Stan with the food.

“Uh, no problem, kid. Ford, grab Fiddlenerd and get in here, let's eat!” Stan called, setting the table while Wendy grabbed plates for everyone.

“Stan, have you seen Mabel?” Ford asked, noticing she was missing from the living room and the kitchen.

“Huh? Oh yeah, she went out on a little date, said she needed a break. Had me drive her to the ice rink, she’ll be home later.” Stan said, shrugging.

“Oh…” Ford's face fell as he left the kitchen to go find Fiddleford, gripping the edges of his coat. _The only thing she'd need a break from is me…_

Fiddleford bumped into Ford in the hallway and he yelped in surprise, soon followed by laughter. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there!” Fiddleford’s laughter ceased when he saw the familiar look of anxiety on Ford’s face. “Dear, are you alright?”

“I'm fine,” Ford said, taking a deep breath to compose himself. _It's alright, she doesn't hate you, she probably just wanted to be with Pacifica. You of all people should know what it's like to need a break from other people._ “I'm fine, honest. Just a touch of nerves, I'll be alright. Uh… Dinner is ready, and Wendy's here so… So if you're ready…”

“Okay, thank you, Stanford… Are you sure you’re going to be alright?” Fiddleford said.

Ford clutched tighter at the edges of his coat. “I'm… Fiddleford, to be honest with you… I'm not entirely sure. If nothing else happens tonight I think I'll be fine.” Ford said. _Come on, you can do this. You promised him no more secrets._

Fiddleford frowned and took Ford’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Well, let’s get some supper in you, and see how you feel after that. Sound good?”

Ford smiled at Fiddleford, squeezing his hand gently. “You know… I think I'm feeling better already.” He said, walking into the kitchen.

Dipper finished setting the table as soon as Ford and Fiddleford made their way into the kitchen, and took a seat next to Wendy. Stan started handing out little cartons of food, not exactly sure what was in each one.

“So what weird science thing are you working on now, Ford?” Wendy asked.

“Well, we’ve, uh, recently been contacted by the ghost of the girl who collided with Dipper and Mabel’s parents in the car crash. The ghost has agreed, with Mabel and Dipper’s permission, for me to study her and find a way to revive Sherman and Alexandria.” Ford said, folding his hands underneath the table. He couldn't help but notice Dipper clenching his fists, the way he glared at the plate of lo mein before him, the way Stan gripped his fork just a little too tightly, the small scowl on his face.

“Oh. Well… I hope it all works out for you.” Wendy said, her voice solemn.

“I'm sure it will. If there's anyone who could do it, it's Stanford.” Fiddleford said.

“Yeah, and we know that Ford wouldn't have considered it unless he was _absolutely sure_ that something could come out of it.” Stan said, though Ford caught a hint of malice in his voice, a pinch of anger, and couldn't help but shrink down in his seat ever so slightly.

Dipper thought of something quickly to change the subject, “S-so, Wendy, I, uh, I have a PC version of the first Fight Fighters if you want to borrow it.”

“Really? That would be cool, but my computer is totally busted.” Wendy sighed.

Fiddleford perked up, “Well, Miss Wendy, I’m pretty handy with that sort of thing. What’s wrong with it?”

“Well, it makes a noise like a spaceship when I try to get on the internet and stuff, and it gets super hot and shuts itself off. It’s kinda freaky.”

“Well, that’s an easy fix, it sounds like the fan. Would you mind if I took a look at it? I could probably figure someth--”

“For a small fee, of course.” Stan interjected. “Twenty bucks. Since you work for me, Fidds here will lower the price, _right_?”

Fiddleford blinked, taking a while to understand what Stan was trying to do. “...Right? Gimme a day or two.”

“Alright, sounds fair.” Wendy shrugged. She figured that Fiddleford wasn't charging to fix her computer, but that Stanley was trying to get him to make some money out of the deal. “I’ll grab my backpack and give you my laptop after dinner.”

“Swell!” Fiddleford grinned and nudged Ford excitedly, “Ford, I could start sellin’ computermajigs again with Stan on my side!” He whispered.

Ford smiled wide, even as his heart sank. “That's great, Fidds.” He said, quietly. _He's got his son, his memories, and Stanley now. He doesn't need you and you're lucky he even wants you around. He only feels sorry for you._ Ford didn't bother trying to push down the thought this time around, he a simply focused on trying to keep himself calm.

Dinner was going horribly, and Ford didn’t know how to fix it. The table was quieter than usual without Mabel, even with Wendy in her place, and an uncomfortable silence hung in the air. Ford hadn’t felt so… excluded in quite a while, not since that first dinner he’d had after he came out of the portal. Stan had heated up some canned ravioli for everyone, it was all that had survived the portal reopening, and it was the first thing Ford had eaten in days. He tried his best not to let it show, to remain polite. Unfortunately, the only table manners he’d really been able to recall at that point in time were from Dimension 28}/08. Ford could still feel everyone’s stares, but at least back then he’d had his anger at Stanley to use as a crutch. _Yes, I have lousy table manners, Stan, that’s what happens when you’re stuck between dimensions for thirty years. At least the entire world isn’t falling apart around us though, right? Not that you’d care, anyways._ But now the anger had dissipated, now Ford knew that it had never really had a foundation to begin with. _If only I’d looked a little harder at what was going on, if only I could have figured out that Bill had tricked us both_. Now he couldn’t use his anger to shake the feeling that everyone in the room hated him. And he knew the reason why perfectly well. He _was_ essentially teaming up with the ghost of the teenager who killed Sherman and Alexandria, after all. _Honestly,_ Ford thought, _what did you think would happen? It's your fault, you did this to yourself._

Soon enough, everyone finished their meal, with Fiddleford, Dipper, and Wendy going to start working on Wendy’s laptop, leaving Ford and Stan to clean up. Stan was silent as he slid any remaining food into a few tupperware containers, while Ford set to washing the dishes, stewing in his thoughts.

“...Stanley?” Ford asked, apprehension clawing at the corners of his brain, scrubbing a plate with a little more force than necessary, the steel wool scraping against the bandages on Ford’s hands. “Stanley, I need you to be completely honest with me. Are you and the kids angry with me? For keeping Riley around?”

“What?” Stan asked, setting the last of the tupperware in the fridge. “Whaddya mean?”

Ford sighed. “Listen, I know you hate Riley. Hell, I do too. And I know keeping her around isn’t what the kids really want or need right now. I have to _try_ , at least, to use this to our advantage and bring Sherman and Alexandria back, and I… I know you all know that I’ll exorcise her the moment one of you says the word.” Ford set the clean dish aside to dry, picking up the next one, though he was too distracted to make any real headway. “Mabel didn’t even show up for dinner, Dipper isn’t… he won’t even look at me, all he’s done today is push me away. Fiddleford doesn’t need me anymore, he’s got his memories back, and now he’s got far better people in his life than myself. Honestly the best thing for him right now is for me to be as far away from him as possible.” The panic in his voice was growing stronger by the minute. “Stanley, I swear it, the only reason she’s around is because she’s my best shot at saving Sherman and Alexandria right now. I-- I swear on my life, Stanley, the second I find an alternative solution I’ll exorcise her. I can’t lose you again, I don’t _want_ to push you away again. So… So if you’re mad at me you have to _tell_ me… okay?”

“Ford, how many times do I have to tell you?” Stan huffed. “I’m not mad at you. Well-- I’m mad at the ghost, you’re not wrong about me hatin’ their guts if she had any left. But I’m not mad at you, and neither is anyone else.” Stan said, furrowing his brow and leaning up against the fridge. “Why do you keep thinking that?”

“Stanley, you and I both know I’m about as capable of reading other people’s emotions as a rock.” Ford deadpanned. “...But I can at least tell when everyone is high strung.”

“Well, I guarantee you it’s just cause of the ghost, not you.” Stan said, putting a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “And Fiddleford thinks you're great, if you haven’t noticed. Sure, you two might have had some kinda falling out last night but you’re workin’ through it, right?”

“Right… I’m… I’m trying, I really am I just…” Ford took a sharp, quick breath. “There’s-- There’s so much and I don’t want to hurt him, and I _know_ that he can do better than me.”

“Look, it doesn't matter if you think he can do better than you or not, the fact is that he hasn't left you yet, so you might as well take that as a sign that he likes you. If he didn't, he wouldn't have stayed after last night. Right?”

Ford stared at Stanley for a long moment, before slowly nodding his head. “...Stan? Since you're not angry with me… and since I need materials if I want to make any headway with this… do you want to come with me on an expedition? We’ll be looking for a few ancient artifacts, some of them may or may not be cursed, and we’ll need a few precious stones.”

“Precious stones? Do I get to keep some for uh, posterity or whatever?” Stan asked. “And what exactly do you need me for, anyways? Sounds simple enough.”

“Sure, you can keep a few.” Ford said, giving Stan a tiny smile. “I could… I could use the company.”

Stan was taken aback. “You… you do?”

Ford wrapped an arm around Stan’s shoulders. “Of course I do, Stanley. We… We haven't really gotten much of a chance to just… hang out together and I-- I really miss it. So if you don't mind or anything… I'd like it if you came along.” Ford said. “I know these expeditions aren’t really your thing, but…”

“Of course I wanna come with you.” Stan said, unable to keep the smile from his face. Ford wanted to be around him again, no strings attached. There was no vital task Ford needed an extra set of hands for, no alternatives Ford had exhausted and begrudgingly asked for Stan’s help. No, no Ford genuinely wanted to spend time with him, and that was a rarity Stan would never pass up. “So when do we head out?”

“I was thinking sometime after breakfast.” Ford said, returning Stan’s smile in full force. Christ, it felt so good to see him _happy_ again, especially after the previous night’s events. “Once the kids have left for school. We should be back in time for lunch, though, or I can always hunt something down for us to eat.” Ford said, shrugging.

“Hm… I kinda want to see you hunt something down.” Stan said, scratching his chin. “Just as long as it’s an actual animal and not some spooky paranormal thing, got it?”

Mabel was very excited to ride in Pacifica's limo on the way home, though… excited was definitely putting it lightly. The glamorous back seat was decked out in shades of violet and silver, had a TV, mini fridge, and all kinds of cool and useless gadgets at the height of luxury. “You really ride in this thing to school every day?! I would _live_ in here!”

Pacifica smiled, enjoying the feeling of impressing Mabel, even if it was easy to do. “I've fallen asleep on long trips in this limo, it's very comfortable. The TV could do for an upgrade, though.” Pacifica scooted close to Mabel in the cushy back seat and placer her hand delicately over Mabel's. “This was nice.”

“Yeah, I had a lot of fun! I almost don't wanna go home!” Mabel said, leaning in closer to Pacifica.

“I don't either.” Pacifica looked out the tinted window, anxiety growing in her gut as they got closer to Mabel's house.

“Hey, don't worry, we can go out again! Maybe we can all have a big sleepover, you and me and Candy and Grenda!”

“I’m not sure, Mabel, I don’t think my parents would let me.” Pacifica hung her head

“Give them a chance, just ask them! The worst they can do is say no.” Mabel smiled wide, trying to cheer Pacifica up.

“You don’t know the worst they can do.” Pacifica said, jerking her hand away from Mabel, the sudden movement making Mabel shrink back.

“Pacifica… I’m sorry. You don’t have to do anything you don’t feel like. We’ll find ways to hang out.” Mabel carefully patted Pacifica’s back.

“No.” Pacifica sighed. “It’s fine. I’ll try to catch them in a good mood. A sleepover sounds like fun.” Pacifica managed a small smile.

“Okay, whatever you wanna do. I promise, no pressure.” Mabel wrapped her arm around Pacifica’s shoulders, and Pacifica gladly leaned into Mabel.

“...Hey, thanks for inviting me to go ice skating today.” Pacifica said, a tiny smile on her face. “It was fun. You’re really good at skating.”

“Oh, Pacifica! You’re the real star, you’re so good! That twirl you did, you just-- You really razz my berries!”

Pacifica tried her hardest not to laugh, but Mabel’s sheer cuteness was too strong. Pacifica burst into a giggle and Mabel joined along. “Wow, Mabel.”

“Really, Pacifica. I like you a lot.” Mabel sighed as the laughter died down, face to face with Pacifica, fluttering her eyelashes. Mabel’s brown eyes were warm and sincere, and Pacifica lowered her defenses, her hand grabbing Mabel’s once more. Mabel’s heart raced, and she let impulse take over, trusting her heart, and gave Pacifica a soft kiss, bonking foreheads in the process.

“OW! Shoot!” Mabel huffed. Pacifica was completely speechless, not even affected by Mabel’s head-butt. Before Mabel could blink, Pacifica pulled her closer by her hand and kissed her once more, careful not to bump heads again. The kiss was short-lived, but time froze for the two girls, for one second, everything was happy, everything was right. Then, all too quickly, the limo came to a halt in front of the Mystery Shack.

“Miss Pacifica,” Her chauffeur, a tall, balding and wrinkly old man by the name of Nathaniel Leverton said. “Miss Mabel, we have arrived at The Mystery Shack.” Nathaniel briskly stepped out of the limousine first, and opened the door for Mabel and Pacifica. Mabel slowly slid out of the limo, red in the face, and not just from the cold air. She couldn’t keep a wide smile from her face as she wrapped Pacifica in a warm hug.

“Thanks, Pacifica. I’ll see you in school tomorrow?” She said, giving Pacifica’s hands a light squeeze.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’ll be there.” Pacifica said, a soft smile spreading across her face as well. “You have a good night, okay?”

“Okay! I’ll see you tomorrow!” Mabel said, beaming at Pacifica before she took off back towards the Shack, a bundle of joy, leaving Nathaniel and Pacifica standing in the snow. She reached into her purse, pulling out another wad of cash to bribe Nathaniel with.

“Young miss,” Nathaniel said, pocketing the cash with little hesitation. “There is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. Miss Mabel is a very nice young woman, and you are one of the most fascinating young women I’ve ever had the pleasure of working for. I’m not just saying that because of the bribes, though I will continue to accept them.” He said, knowing full well that the Northwests severely underpaid him, despite their riches. “Your secret will be safe with me, for as long as you wish for me to keep it.”

Ford quietly snuck through the kitchen, mug of coffee in hand. He and Stan had finished the dishes, and Ford was slowly trying to piece together a list of all the materials he and Stan would need to be searching for the following day. Ford was snapped out of his reverie when Mabel bounded into the kitchen, snow on her boots and a wide smile on her face.

“Grunkle Ford!” She squealed, running up to Ford and practically tackling him in a big hug, causing Ford to nearly drop his coffee.

Ford leaned over to set his coffee down on the counter in order to give Mabel a proper hug. “Mabel! Is everything okay?” He asked. “I’m-- Mabel, I’m sorry about how tense things have been lately, are you alright?”

“Huh? Yeah, Grunkle Ford, I’m alright, I just had the best night of my _life_!” She said, beaming at Ford and pulling herself onto his shoulders. “I think I’m in _love,_ Grunkle Ford!

“Really now?” Ford said, smiling a bit and helping Mabel balance herself, carrying her towards the living room. “I wonder who the lucky lady is. I’m going to go ahead and guess… Pacifica Northwest?” He said.

“It was magical! We went ice skating, and she taught me how to do a twirl, and she did one and she looked beautiful… like an ice fairy! And we shared a milkshake, and she held my hand when we skated!” Mabel leaned down and whispered “And I kissed her goodnight!”

“Did you now?” Ford said, his smile growing wider at the fact that Mabel’s happy demeanor had returned in full force. “Was that your first kiss?”

“No, my first kiss was with a merman boy named Mermando I met at the pool... it was pretty intense. But this was ten times better. A _million_ times better. Even though I accidentally head-butted her.” She said.

“You kissed a merman?” Ford asked. “Wait, what was a merman even doing in the pool? It doesn’t connect to the ocean, how would he get there?”

“Grunkle Ford, that’s a tragic romance story for another day. I’ll get my scrapbook down and tell you all about it later.” Mabel said.

“Alright.” Ford said, lifting Mabel from his shoulders and setting her down on the ground. “So you enjoyed your date with Pacifica?”

“Yeah!” Mabel smiled up at him, but her smile faded quickly as she focused on Ford’s head. “Have you been taking ibuprofen today? How’s your head feeling?”

“Huh? Oh,” Ford absentmindedly felt at the stitches on his head. “Oh, no, no, Mabel, I’m fine, I promise.”

Mabel frowned and took Ford's hand. “You need to take care of yourself, Grunkle Ford. Are you sure it doesn't hurt?”

“Mabel, it's alright. It doesn't hurt, not anymore at least.” Ford said. “You don't have to worry about me, Mabel.”

Mabel squeezed Ford's hand. “Okay… if you say so.”

“Mabel, I need to ask you something, something important.” Ford said.

“Okay? What is it?” Mabel responded with a smile.

“Mabel… I understand that you needed a break today. I know what it’s like to need to get away from everything for a while.” Ford said, kneeling down to Mabel’s level and putting a hand on her shoulder. “I just… I need to know if you’re upset with me. I need to know if keeping the ghost around is making you even the slightest bit uncomfortable. Mabel, all you have to do is say the word and I’ll exorcise her in a heartbeat. I promise you that you’re safe, I wouldn’t have even _considered_ keeping that ghost around if I thought she was any real threat now.”

“I’m not upset with you! I was kinda stressed out about the ghost thing… it’s pretty crazy. But, I trust you, Grunkle Ford. I know that you know what’s best with spooky supernatural stuff. And I know you miss Mom and Dad too, and you’re gonna do your best to get them back. Just don’t work too hard…” Mabel leaned into Ford, hugging him with all her might. “Take care of yourself.”

Ford let out a soft chuckle. “Mabel I'll be fine, I promise. You don't have to worry about me.”

“...Okay.” Mabel said, burying her face into Ford’s coat, staring at the mostly faded bloodstain that was still there despite Ford’s best efforts to clean it. “Okay, if you say so.”

“And Mabel?” Ford said, his voice solemn.

“Yeah?” Mabel said, peeping up at Ford with wide, brown eyes.

“There’s something important that I need to tell you. It’s top secret, you have to swear that you won’t tell _anyone_. Not Soos, or Wendy, or Pacifica or Candy or Grenda. No one, understand?” Ford asked. “It’s in the basement, I’m sure you don’t want to down there right now, but… You’re just going to have to trust me when I tell you this, okay?”

Mabel nodded, noting the serious look on Ford’s face. “I promise. I’ll keep it a secret.”

“Okay…” Ford said, taking a deep breath. “Okay, down in the basement, there’s a tear between dimensions. It was created when Stanley reactivated the portal. It’s contained for now, but frankly, I’m not sure how to fix it. Last night…” Ford sighed. “Bill attacked us last night because he needs the rift to open, so he can destroy our world. I’ve already told the rest of the family, I… I didn’t want you to panic, so I put off telling you until now. I’m sorry.”

Mabel listened intently, taking the matter seriously. “So if it breaks… Bill takes over? Grunkle Ford… _I’m_ sorry. I-I’m so glad me and Dipper and Grunkle Stan have you… but if I had pressed that button… this wouldn’t have happened. I didn’t mean to put us in danger.” She said. “And d-don’t worry, I’ll keep it a secret, they-- oh no, what if they come and a-arrest you like they did Grunkle Stan? Should we hide?”

 _I shouldn’t have told her_ , was the first thought that ran through Stanford’s mind. _I shouldn’t have told her, now she’s blaming herself for **my** mistakes and-- _Guilt tore through Ford’s heart like a bullet, and he quickly wrapped Mabel in a tight hug. “Mabel, Mabel, it’s okay, it was my fault, I was the one who built the portal in the first place, this isn’t your fault. I-- I can’t begin to thank you enough for not pressing that button. I’ll admit… I was angry at first, but… I’ve realized that I’d have taken the risk for you, for your brother, for Stanley, for Fiddleford and for anyone else in this family.” Ford said, squeezing Mabel tight before putting his hands on her shoulders, making sure she was looking directly into his eyes as he spoke. “I’m so _happy_ to be back home again, that I got the chance to meet you and Dipper. If… If it weren’t for you, Mabel, I wouldn’t have my _family_.”

Mabel sniffled and squeezed Ford as tight as she could. “D-don’t make me cry! I love you, Grunkle Ford.”

“S-Sorry!” Ford stammered, smiling wide, his heart swelling as he felt tears on the brim of his eyes. “Sorry, please don’t cry, Mabel! I-- I love you, too.” He said, hugging Mabel tightly, not noticing Dipper’s socked feet softly thumping against the linoleum of the kitchen.

“Great Uncle Ford?” Dipper asked. He was holding his copy of Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons. “Mabel? Um, do either of you guys wanna play D, D, and More D with me? And Fiddleford and Wendy, too?”

Ford gave Dipper a wide smile, reaching out and pulling him into a group hug. “Come here, you… Of course I’d like to play, Dipper, the answer to that question is always, _always_ yes.” He said, holding Dipper tight. _No matter what, just say the word and I’ll stop everything and play._ Just like that, any doubts on whether Dipper cared about him had vanished from Ford’s mind. _I was overreacting after all, of course I was..._

Dipper chuckled and patted Ford’s back as they hugged. “Wow, everyone's affectionate today. You down to play too Mabel?” Dipper said, peeking over Ford’s shoulder.

“I don’t know… Do I still get to cast Death Muffins?” Mabel asked.

“Yeah… I’ll allow Death Muffins, but only if you roll a fifteen or higher!” Dipper said, laughing.

“Awesome! I'm gonna go put on my PJ’s first, though.” Mabel said, pulling away from the group hug.

Ford pulled back so Mabel could run off to the attic, and smiled at Dipper, still on his knee and at Dipper's eye level. “Thank you, for inviting me to play, Dipper.” He said, pulling Dipper close. “Oh, and… er… now Fiddleford, Stanley and Mabel know about the rift. I'm sorry I made you keep that secret from the rest of the family.”

“It's okay, Great Uncle Ford. I get why you did, if those government agents came back they could take you away, they could take all of us away. The rift… It's still safe, right?”

“Of course, I've hidden it in the study.” Ford said, ruffling Dipper’s hair.  “You've done a fantastic job, helping me protect it, and I can’t thank you enough.”

Dipper held his head high with pride, knowing that he was doing something important, something of worth, filled him with a sense of validation. “No problem, Great Uncle Ford!

Ford placed a giant hand on Dipper's tiny shoulder and smiled a sincere, crooked smile. “I love you, Dipper. I… I really do, and I’m not sure I’ve told you that yet.”

Dipper smiled back, as if it were obvious. “Yeah, I love you too, Grunkle Ford. C’mon, let's go play D, D, and More D. I have a new character I wanna break in.”

Ford paused for just a second, his hand still on Dipper’s shoulder, rolling the term ‘grunkle’ around in his head. “...Dipper, if you don’t mind, I think-- Well, if you wanted to call me Grunkle Ford all the time, that’d be alright with me.” He knew that Dipper referred to him as Great Uncle out of respect and politeness. He also knew that Mabel referred to him as Grunkle because she saw him as a member of her family, and the name made him feel… more human, more like a family man with relationships and ties to the real world. Somehow, it made him feel a little less homesick.

“O-okay, if that's what you want, Grunkle Ford.” Dipper said, getting himself used to the term.

Ford gave Dipper a wide smile, lifting him up and carrying him into the living room on his shoulders “So, tell me about this new character you made.”

Dipper laughed as he was lifted off the ground and held onto Ford's coat for balance. “W-well, he's a Rogue Archer, he has high intelligence and agility stats, he's sort of a mysterious character, has a dark past… And six fingers. His name is Dodge.”

Ford let out a genuine, hearty chuckle. “You… You really made a character after me?”

“Well...he is _based_ on you. There are differences. Like...he doesn't wear glasses. And he didn’t write three journals.” Dipper blurted, a little embarrassed.

“You know… I’ve come up with a new character I want to try out as well.” Ford said. “His name is Ursa, he’s a little young with high intelligence stats and high charisma and leadership skills. His strength stats don’t look like anything to sneeze at, but if any party member’s health drops below seventy-five percent, he gets a hefty stat boost, if I do say so myself.” Ford said, setting Dipper down in front of the doorway to the living room. “I know I wouldn’t want to run into him in a dark alley.”

Dipper smiled and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Sounds like a pretty cool guy.” Wendy sat in the living room with Mabel, the two of them looking at the DD&MD box art. “I still think the elf guy is hot.” Mabel sighed

“If you like pretty boys.” Wendy shrugged. “I think _this guy_ over here is better looking.” She said, pointing to an illustration of a pirate character in the manual, with an open vest and long, dark locks of hair.

“Eh, I’d say the Pirate Captain of the Western Seas is more of a pretty boy than the Hot Elf.” Ford said. “He has far more charisma, and a neutral alignment.”

“Okay, whatever that means, Doc.” Wendy said, leaning back. “So how do you play, anyways?”

“Well--” Ford started, but was cut off by Fiddleford.

“Ford, I love ya, but you’ve never really been good at makin’ this game sound fun.” Fiddleford said, taking Ford’s hand. “So first you’ve gotta make a character. You can roll dice to figure out their base stats, and you write it all down so you can save ‘em for later an’ you don’t have to do it again in the next game. One of us, probably Ford since he likes doin’ it more than me an’ Dipper, is gonna be the Dungeon Master, he’s gonna be the one thinkin’ of enemies and treasures and tellin’ the story. We’ll move our characters through the dungeon by rollin’ dice, and when we encounter an enemy, we’ll make up moves and the dice tell us how powerful they get to be! It’s like one of them choose yer own adventure vidja games you kids like these days.”

“You mean an RPG?” Wendy said.

“Sure!” Fiddleford said, handing Ford some graph paper. “Whatever those letters mean!”

“It means Role Playing Game, Mr. McGucket.” Dipper said, taking some graph paper from him. “And yeah, D, D, and More D _is_ a role playing game, that’s why they’re so similar.”

Mabel took some paper too, and pulled out some of her own colored pencils from her pajama pant pockets. “Can I _draw_ my character? And what do I have to do to _not_ have to use graph paper?”

“Yes, you can draw them,” Ford said, handing Mabel some graph paper despite her protests. “That’s how I like to create my characters, anyways. Unfortunately, graph paper is all we have right now so there’s not a way to get out of using it. I can help you with the character’s stats if you like, Mabel.”

“Okay, I guess… Can I be a fairy?”

“Yes, you can be whatever you wish, Mabel.” Ford said.

“Most people like to go with the provided magical creatures, but Ford and I think the list is inaccurate, so we just do what we want.” Dipper said, shrugging.

Stan trudged into the living room, a light beer in hand. The can was from a six pack that had been in the back of his refrigerator for years, he only broke it out every now and again. Between the previous night’s events, the ghost in the basement, and Ford’s increasing anxiety, Stan needed a little pick-me-up. His brow furrowed at the thought of Ford, he’d only been getting worse these past few weeks, even though the medicine that had been prescribed to him had had ample time to kick in. At best, Stan was going to have to drive Ford up to the doctors to adjust his dosage. At worst, he’d need an entirely new prescription. Between that and the bills for rebuilding part of the Shack, Stan’s winter cash supply was running a little too low for his liking, he’d have to find some other way to make some extra cash this winter, or pull out all the stops again during the Christmas season. But he couldn’t afford to think about all that right now. No, right now all Stanley wanted to do was drink one measly little beer and watch TV, something nice and mind numbing.

He didn’t expect to find that the living room had already been taken. The whole family, plus Wendy, took up the floor of the living room, graph paper and die with way too many sides littering the shag carpet.

“Oh, Stanley,” Ford said, looking up from where he was helping Mabel and Wendy create their characters, while Fiddleford and Dipper were setting up the board. “Would you like to join us?”

“Uh, I kinda was hopin’ to watch some TV…” Stan said, quietly. The last thing he wanted was to start another fight between him and Ford. “I can just go sit on the porch, it’s fine.”

“Oh, well…” Ford looked around the room. “Well we haven’t actually set anything up yet… it wouldn’t be too much trouble… to move to the kitchen? W-would everyone be alright with that?”

Mabel hopped up with her paper and pencils, “Sure! The table is a better drawing surface anyway.” She said. The rest of the group nodded in agreement, and Ford carefully grabbed the game board, carrying it into the kitchen, giving Stanley a soft smile as he left.

Stan sighed as he plopped down in his chair, watching everyone chatter and laugh at the kitchen table. Grumbling to himself, he turned on the TV, The Duchess Approved was just starting up. He had seen this movie more times than he could count, it was his favorite, but he couldn’t bring himself to get into the story like he usually would. Slowly, Stan turned off the TV, standing up from the recliner and downing the rest of his beer. “I can’t believe I’m doing this…” He muttered, shuffling into the kitchen.

“Oh, sorry, Stan… Were we being too loud?” Ford asked upon seeing his brother’s disgruntled face, raising an eyebrow.

“I, uh… I changed my mind.” Stan said, scratching his chin. “Is it too late to join in your nerd game?”

“No, of course not, come sit down!” Ford responded immediately, pulling out a chair for Stan, a wide, excited grin on his face. “I think you’ll really like it once you get the hang of it! It’s a little complex at first, but the hard part is mainly just making the characters and cross referencing everyone’s statistics.”

“Yeah, Grunkle Stan, Dipper said we can use death muffins!” Mabel said, holding up her drawing. “And I get to be a forest fairy!”

“Oh, darn, I was going to be one too.” Stan said dryly as he sat down. He picked up the manual with the characters pre-made by the creators of D, D, and More D. “So, uh, the elf paladin looks cool? I guess?”

“Oh, we’re playin’ by, er, _modified_ rules. You don’t have to pick from that list, you can pick your character to be just about anythin’.” Fiddleford said.

“How about a pirate?” Stan asked, eyeing some of Ford’s character sheets. Some were old and worn, and had likely not seen the light of day since the eighties. They depicted lizard men, demons, a woman made of fire. But the newer ones, the ones Ford had made after his return, seemed… happier, almost. There were little sheets for everyone in the family, Stan could make out one for himself, one that was clearly Dipper, and Mabel, and even Fiddleford. “Pirates exist in your fantasy nerd world, right?”

“Of course!” Ford said, pulling out the game’s manual. “Let’s see… there’s the Pirates of the Western Seas, there are the Sea Bandits of Nenala, and there are the Ghost Pirates of the Northern Joran Sea.”

“Which ones are the best? I think I want to be a solo pirate, do my own thing.” Stan said.

“Well, any of them could be on their own, but if you’re a Ghost Pirate then you get a stat boost for not having any other members in your party.” Ford said.

“Ghost Pirate it is then.” Stan said, folding his arms. “Now what?”

“Now you roll the die to see what stats you get.” Dipper said, handing over his own 38-sided die.

“You can also choose to lower the number and only raise it when certain conditions are met.” Ford added.

Stan rolled the die and waved his other hand. “Yeah, yeah, skip the math, will ya? And if I get a high number, why the heck would I wanna lower it?”

Ford grinned, pulling out the character sheet he’d made for Ursa. “Well, when I was creating _this_ character, I managed to roll a thirty-six as his strength stat, making him incredibly powerful. _But,_ because he’s a child character he has a low base hp and -2 defense automatically, so naturally enemies would want to take him out as quickly as possible. So I lowered his strength stat to twelve, and if the health of any member of his party drops below seventy-five percent it goes right back to thirty-six. This would allow any other members of his party time to use defensive spells and items to deflect any potential damage.” Ford said.

Stan looked pretty lost and blinked at Fiddleford, “Translation?”

“Kid characters die easy and can’t defend themselves, so a strong one would be a quick an’ easy target. So Ford made it so that he’d be pretty weak until someone got hurt, so that other people could put up a defense in time for that character to join the fight.”

“Pretty smart move, poindexter. I think I can get the hang of this.” Stan said. “But seriously, though, everyone can tell this is just Dipper. So where’s the one you made of me?” He said, a smug grin on his face.

“Oh, well…” Ford slowly pulled out a character sheet. The top was dominated by a drawing of a large man in armor, decorated with what appeared to be the skulls of some fantasy creature. “Well… his name is Rye, he’s a brawler class. High strength, charisma, and defense, but low agility, speed, and hp. He, uh, he gets a stat boost for each member of his party.” He said, furrowing his brow.

Stan grinned at the drawing, the character was very muscular and sported a familiar square jaw. “I like it! Is it too late to make this guy a pirate?”

Mabel gasped at the drawing. “Grunkle Ford! I wanna see mine!”

Ford paused, smiling and letting out a hearty chuckle. “Well, you’re an Archer Princess who--”

“Like Zelda?” Mabel interrupted, grinning.

“Uh… who?” Ford asked, holding the character sheet he’d made for Mabel in his hands.

“Princess Zelda! From the Legend of Zelda?! She's the princess of Hyrule!” Mabel looked over the picture, a girl with a long flowing gown and a headdress, and a belt carrying various types of deadly arrows. “She's pretty!”

“Oh, Dipper was telling me about that game earlier.” Ford said. “And I’m… I’m glad you think so, Mabel.”

Wendy crossed her arms and feigned a mean glare at Ford, “What, I don’t get one?”

“W-Well I only made these recently, but I could make one for you as well, Wendy.” Ford said, genuinely surprised that so many people were interested in the characters he’d made for fun.

“Wanna see the one I made of Ford?” Dipper asked, pulling out his own character sheet. “While we wait for Ford to do one for Wendy?”

“Please tell me that you made him an elf or something.” Stan said, a wide grin on his face.

“Well, he's a rogue archer named Dodge--” Dipper was cut short by Stan and Fiddleford's laughter.

“You should have named him Chevy,” Fiddleford wheezed, grabbing Ford’s shoulder to steady himself.

Dipper blushed and stammered. “O-Oh, maybe I should have…”

“ _Please_ stop making puns about me.” Ford deadpanned, showing Wendy the character he'd made for her. “Alright, her name is Ira, she's a commander in Princess Unattainabelle’s royal guard. She wields a dual bladed battle axe, as well as an arm mounted cannon.”

“Nice!” Wendy said, grabbing her character sheet. “Can I have a sick tattoo of a wolf?”

“Uh, sure.” Ford said, adding it to his drawing.

Wendy took out her phone and snapped a quick picture. “This is totally my wallpaper now. Your art is fantastic!”

“Literally!” Mabel added, laughing.

“Well now I kinda want to skip the game and just keep making characters.” Stan grunted.

“That sounds fun to me!” Wendy grinned, texting the picture to her friends. “Dude… Dr. Pines, did you make Soos?”

“Ah, well, if you want to… I think making the characters is one of the best parts.” Ford said, smiling as he pulled up another piece of paper. “And, to answer Wendy’s question, no I haven’t made one for Soos yet.”

Dipper smiled and flipped through the manual, “Soos probably won’t play with us, he prefers live-action role play.”

“Well… I didn’t think Stan would want to play with us either, and I still made one for him.” Ford said, making a sketch of a prince on the graph paper. “Alright, what do you think?”

“Aw, he’s so dashing!” Mabel said, leaning over the table to examine the picture closer.

“I think he’d be Redimir, he’s a prince whose place on the throne was stolen from him, and he needs to free his people from oppression.” Ford said. “He’d act as a knight in battle.”

Dipper chuckled, “Yeah, I think Soos would like that. He does always come to the rescue.”

“...He does, doesn’t he?” Ford mused. “Uh, alright… who should we do next?”

“Pacifica!” Mabel blurted out.

“Alright,” Ford said, with a sly smile, grabbing a clean sheet of paper. “We’ll do Pacifica. I’m thinking… she’d be a rogue princess, probably a mage.”

“Oooh, yes, definitely!” Mabel said, picking up a pencil and leaning over Ford to help with his drawing, adding a liberal amount of rainbows and smiley faces to it.

“She’d work tirelessly to undo corruption in the Southern Kingdoms, hopefully I’ll roll her a high stealth stat when the time comes.” Ford said.

“Yeah, hopefully. And she’s rescued by Princess Mabel?”

“If that’s what you wish, then yes.” Ford said, chuckling a bit. “Then they team up and go explore the hidden dungeons in the Labyrinth of Catacombs.”

“As nerdy as it sounds, I'll admit, this is kind of fun.” Stan said, looking through Ford's character drawings.

“Really?” Ford asked, smiling wide. “I thought you might like it.”

“Yeah, once you get past all the nerdy stuff.  And the fact that ‘charisma’ is a fantasy power.” Stan said.

“It's not a power, it just dictates how easily other characters will follow you into battle.” Ford said, huffing. “The game wouldn't be any fun if you had the perfect team every time.”

“That’s for sure.” Dipper nodded. “I like characters with flaws.”

“But not the reworked version of Probabilator from the nineties.” Ford said, laughing and nudging Dipper’s arm.

“Okay, yeah, no, too many flaws. We don’t count the nineties.” Dipper laughed.

The family continued like that for a while, with Dipper, Mabel, and Stanley making suggestions and Ford drawing them out, until eventually Wendy had to leave for the night, and Dipper and Mabel reluctantly trudged upstairs to get to bed, not wanting to admit they had to go to school the next day. Stan and Ford tucked the kids in, swearing up and down that their dreams would be peaceful that night, that nothing would come for them in the darkness, leaving Fiddleford down in the dim kitchen by himself.

It didn't take long for him to start trembling with fear.

There were eyes watching his every move, he could feel them staring even if he couldn't see them. He wasn’t safe on his own, he needed something to protect himself, he needed to _hide_ , he had to get to high ground, he needed shelter, something solid and sturdy.

Before Fiddleford knew what he was doing, he was scrambling on top of the counter, trying to clamber up to the top of the cupboards, ignoring the dust and cobwebs in his eyes.

“Fiddleford?”

Fiddleford froze, clinging to the cupboard with all of his limbs, whimpering in fear. “S-S-Stanford, i-is that you?”

“Yeah, Fidds… It’s me, I promise.” Ford said, holding his arms out in front of the counter for Fiddleford. “...Come on, it’s alright, Fidds… Y-You’re not over there anymore, nothing came back with you, with either of us.”

Fiddleford reluctantly climbed down from the cupboard and into the safety of Ford’s arms, not only afraid, but now more than a little embarrassed, his face flushing red. “T-they’re watchin’ us, Stanford, it a-ain’t safe here.” Fiddleford stammered, tugging his beard, wishing it were long again, and pressing into Ford as much as he possibly could.

“I-I’m sorry, Fiddleford,” Stanford said, holding Fiddleford close, with big, strong arms. “This is the safest place in the world right now, they won’t come through to this world, I swear it… Do you-- Do you want to talk about it? Maybe there’s a way I can help...” Ford’s voice was quiet, a steady rock in the sea of terror and paranoia Fiddleford felt he was drowning in.

“I don’t kn-now. Can w-we get under the covers? I just need to clear m-my mind.” Fiddleford was hyperventilating, clinging to Ford for dear life, leaping up a little and wrapping his legs around Ford’s waist. Ford grunted at the sudden weight, but was more than happy to carry Fiddleford, to hold him close, to be there to protect him when he needed it the most.

Ford gently carried Fiddleford into the living room where their air mattress was set up. “Do you need me to get you anything? Coffee? I’ve got some caffeine pills in my coat pocket, and I think I’ve gotten pretty close to figuring out how to make Mabel Juice…”

“N-n-no, thank you.” Fiddleford said, clutching Ford’s coat as tight as he could. “P-please don’t l-leave… I-I don’t think I can face ‘em alone…”

“I won’t leave you. I’ll stay here all night, Fidds, I swear.” Ford said, rubbing soothing circles into Fiddleford’s back.

“I-If I fall asleep will you k-keep watch?” Fiddleford’s eyes were already starting to flutter shut. “I-I don’t think I can keep myself awake fer much longer…”

“All night if I have to.” Ford said. “On the other side… I usually wasn’t with company, but… having someone keep watch helps. Believe me.”

Fiddleford yawned, shivering and drawing his blanket over his head. “I love you, Stanford… Wake me up when you want to get some shut-eye.”

Ford laid Fiddleford’s head down in his lap, leaning up against where the air mattress was pushed up against the living room wall, wrapping one arm around Fiddleford, protectively. Ford absentmindedly reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a small purple bottle. The words printed on the label weren’t written in any language this dimension had seen before, but Ford knew them well: caffeine pills, from dimension 9183-2. The dominant species there, a reptilian race known as the Biguborn, was more resistant to the effects of caffeine than humans, Ford had found. So while he was there, he’d stolen a good thirty cases of the stuff. This was one of the last bottles, he had five more hidden away in the basement, and Ford dreaded waiting for the day he ran out. Popping off the lid with one hand, Ford fished three of the tiny red pills out of the bottle, swallowing them dry, and settling in to keep watch over Fiddleford for the night.

He’d protect Fiddleford with everything that he was if it came to it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! We've been writing like crazy to try and get this done, and we've also got an entirely NEW fic that takes place in the same universe as this one. You can find it HERE: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5537162/chapters/12774251
> 
> (the-stan-twin.tumblr.com and the-ford-twin.tumblr.com)


	20. Out With the Coat, In With the New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6-15-18-4'19 16-15-5-20-18-25 9-19 19-3-1-20-20-5-18-5-4 1-18-15-21-14-4 20-8-5 13-21-12-20-9-22-5-18-19-5.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blood mention, flashbacks, ptsd, referenced sexual assault, sensory hell.

Fiddleford was awake before Dipper and Mabel had left for school, but he didn’t stir. Ford didn’t ask him to, if anyone came into the living room that morning they would have to wait until Fiddleford was comfortable enough to leave Ford’s embrace. He kept his arms around Fiddleford, strong and solid, protecting him from anything that would dare harm him. Fiddleford didn’t attempt to move until Stan had taken the kids to the bus stop, and the sun began to rise, illuminating the darkest corners of the house, chasing the nightmares away.

“...Stanford?” Fiddleford’s voice was quiet, wavering as he repositioned himself in Ford’s arms, curling up against his chest. “What time is it?”

Ford glanced at the owl shaped clock on the living room wall, squinting to read it properly in the dim light. “It’s about seven fifteen, the kids just left for school.”

“P-perhaps I should get up.” Fiddleford paused, sitting up slowly. “Thank you, Ford.”

“Any time you need me to, I’ll be there.” Ford said, giving Fiddleford a gentle kiss on his forehead. “I swear it.”

Fiddleford couldn’t help but smile, and leaned over to steal a second kiss from Ford’s lips, before standing up. “Maybe the two of us should get cleaned up.”

“I’d imagine so…” Ford said, following suit. “Fiddleford, um… Well, Stan and I had plans to go on a supernatural hunting trip today. Will, will you be alright by yourself or-- Well… Well would you like to come with us or--”

“Oh! Stanford, I don’t wanna impose. I know you ‘n your brother don’t get too much alone time. I can find somethin’ to do, work on Miss Wendy’s computer or somethin’ of the like… You’ll be home before dark, right?”

“Of course, with this snow outside it wouldn’t be wise to stay outside past dark.” Ford said. “It’s too cold, and there are only so many coats I can wear at once. You’ll _call_ me if anything happens, right? I mean it, anything, if you don’t feel safe, if something _attacks_ you, just… just say the word and I’ll come running.”

“Thank you, Ford… I promise, I will.” Fiddleford sighed, hating the feeling of being so dependent. As he bent down to pick some clothes from the pile on the living room floor, he jumped as the house phone rang loudly throughout the house. “Christ!” Fiddleford yelped, scrambling away from Ford and rushing to the phone before it could stop ringing. “Hello? Pines residence.”

“Dad? It’s Tate.” Tate’s voice sent a wave of excitement through Fiddleford, who was afraid it would be a while before he heard from his son again.

“Tate! Howdy! What-- What’s goin’ on, what can I do ya fer?” Fiddleford said.

“Well, I was thinkin’ it’s about time you an’ Jill got to know each other… Rather, she’s been beggin’ me to invite you to lunch with us.”

“Oh, that sounds mighty swell! Er, what time should I walk on over there?” Fiddleford glanced at the clock in the living room. “I reckon we’ve never had a proper introduction… O-Or maybe we have, an’ I just forgot it…”

“You ain’t walkin’ nowhere, Dad. We’ll come and pick you up. I think you’ll really like her, Dad, she’s a great gal.” Tate said.

“I really don’t mind walkin-”

“Dad, not in this weather. Just let me do this fer you, okay?” A sliver of emotion had pierced through Tate’s stoic voice.

“A-alright, son. What time do you want to come an’ get me?” Fiddleford tugged at his beard.

“Jill and I’ll be around by about eleven, I suppose.” Tate said. “Thanks fer coming, Dad.”

“Anything for you, son.” Fiddleford smiled, “See you soon.”

Stanford stood in the corner, watching Fiddleford with an anxious smile, hoping the call was a good one. “So… that was Tate? What’s happening?” He asked.

“Tate and his wife are takin’ me out to lunch today.” Fiddleford said with a wide grin. “I figure I’ll be fine on my own today until they come and take me out with them. Shouldn’t be too long, only four hours.”

“That’s great, Fidds.” Ford said, his smile growing more relaxed.

Fiddleford grinned as he lept into Ford's arms, giving him as big a hug as he could muster. “I’m so thankful Tate wants to spend time with me, Ford, I got a chance to be the father he deserves again!”

“I-- Fidds, that’s wonderful.” Ford said, just a tiny hint of sadness in his voice. “It’s wonderful, I’m so happy for you.” He couldn’t help but squeeze Fiddleford tight, afraid to let him go and lose him, lose him to someone Fiddleford really needed, far more than he needed Ford.

“Ford, is somethin’ wrong?” Fiddleford asked.

“No, no, nothing’s wrong, everything is fine.” Ford said. “I’m happy for you, I mean it.”

Fiddleford frowned, looking up at Ford knowingly. “Are you sure?”

“I-- I guess…” Ford frowned, unsure of how to explain what was happening. “I’m sorry, I really am happy for you, I’m so glad that you’re reconnecting with Tate, and I’m _not_ asking you to stop that for my sake, I swear. I just… I’m worried that now that you’ve reconciled that… that you won’t need me anymore.” _Come on, Ford, you can do this, no more secrets, you promised._ “I feel like Tate is a better influence in your life than I am, and that Stan’s a better influence in your life than I am, and that because of that you won’t want me around anymore.” Ford had to force the words from his mouth.

Fiddleford placed his hand gently on Ford’s cheek. “You’re talkin’ nonsense, darlin’. I’ll always need you… I wouldn’t have even made it through the night without you. I-I wouldn’t even be coherent enough to talk to my kid without you. You _know_ that if I wanted you gone, I would tell you. And I don’t.”

“I… I know, Fidds.” Ford said, leaning into Fiddleford’s hand, smiling at the touch.

“Do you?” Fidds stroked Ford’s cheek, concern in his voice.

“Sometimes, I lose sight of it…” Ford said. “T-too often, for my liking. I just can’t get it out of my head, and it’s awful, and every time I try to convince myself that that won’t happen I just… dig myself in deeper. I missed you, Fiddleford. A-And I’m afraid of missing you again.”

“Oh, _Stanford_.” Fiddleford wrapped his skinny arms around Ford’s shoulders and held him close. “You won’t ever have to miss me again.”

“Don’t feel obligated to stay, Fiddleford.” Ford said, keeping his voice even. “I want you to be where you’ll feel safe, I completely understand if it’s not with me.”

Fiddleford sighed and squeezed Ford tight. “I feel safe right now. I feel safe with you, I do. I-I know what happened, and I know w-we fell apart, in the worst ways, but I _know_ that you care about me, you’ve always had a piece’a me with you. Even after everything, I _trust you_.”

“Do you?” Ford asked, leaning into Fiddleford’s hug, terrified of the real answer.

“I do, Stanford. With my life.” Fiddleford said, giving Ford a quick kiss on his cheek and holding his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I love you.” Ford said, just as the front door opened, bringing a sudden chill.

“I’m not trying to cock-block you two nerds, but I haven't had my morning coffee yet, so keep it down.” Stan said as he entered the house, peeling his ragged coat off and hanging it up.

“ _Stanley_ , for the _last time_ , Fiddleford and I don’t have sex! So if you could _please_ stop insinuating that we do _every time you decide to interrupt us,_ I would appreciate it!” Ford said, a bit too harshly, causing Fiddleford to shrink away and blush.

“Woah! Take it easy, Ford, I was tryin’ to joke with you.” Stan said, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.” Ford said. “Uh, if it’s caffeine you’re looking for, I have a few tablets from Dimension 9183-2 that’ll do the trick and more.”

“I don’t think I want your crazy space pills, I’m fine with black coffee.” Stan said, raising an eyebrow. “...Maybe you should tone it down on the caffeine for a little bit?”

“Sorry, Stan, no can do!” Ford said. “We’ve got a long day of hunting down various monsters and supernatural artifacts to get to, and we’ll both need to be as alert as possible.”

“I’ve got enough heart problem as it is, Ford, I don’t wanna keel over because of some alien uppers.” Stan huffed. “If you wanna take ‘em then be my guest, just leave me out of it.”

“A-- Alright… If you say so.” Ford said, furrowing his brow.

“So, what are you doing today, Fiddlenerd? Don’t let me catch you fixing someone else’s computer for free.” Stan said while walking into the kitchen.

“He's right, Fidds, don't undervalue your work.” Ford added.

“I don’t know anythin’ about running a business--” Fiddleford started.

“Yeah, well I do. Nothing is free. Start out cheap, build a client base, and raise prices.” Stan said simply. “I’ll even help you out if you want, advertise in the shack for Christmas.”

“...He _has_ been running a small business for thirty years, it wouldn't be a bad idea to let him help out.” Ford said.

“Why, thank you, Stanley. I’m not really sure what I’m doing outside of the computer itself.” Fiddleford said.

“And lord knows I'm the same way,” Ford said, putting an arm around Fiddleford’s shoulder.

Stan shrugged and poured his large cup of coffee. “Eh. It's the least I can do, you help me out with the kids all the time.”

“We really appreciate all you do around the house. You're like… You're like a third uncle to the kids, as well.” Ford added.

Fiddleford took a seat at the table, wearing a bashful smile. “Those kids mean a lot to me. Speakin’ of kids, Tate and his wife are takin’ me out to lunch today.”

“That ought to be nice. You can break out that suit you bought.” Stan said.

“Oh, my stars, I nearly forgot I had it!” Fiddleford said, standing up from his seat. “I have to make sure it’s not all wrinkled up from the debris! We saved it from our room before they started construction, didn’t we?”

“Don't worry, I hung it up in the hall closet.” Ford said. “It looks _fantastic_ on you, I made sure to keep it nice and neat.”

Fiddleford gave Ford a quick peck on the cheek before dashing out of the room, “I have to get ready!”

Ford couldn't help but blush, as he poured himself a cup of coffee, slipping two of the caffeine pills into the cup before downing as much as he could. “I’m glad he has something to do while we’re out on our excursion today.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, me too.” Stan said, looking up from his coffee. “What exactly are we looking for?”

“Well, there is a cave I know of that has naturally occurring stones that have supernatural qualities. I'm hoping some of them can be harnessed to facilitate the formation of ghosts. We'll be searching for possible hidden artifacts as well, but don't expect to find much in this weather.”

“Rock hunting, can’t be too hard.” Stan said as he poured himself a second cup of coffee.

“Actually, rocks are quite hard. That’s why they’re called _rocks_.” Ford said, grinning.

“Fuck you.”

“I couldn’t resist,” Ford said, letting out a hearty chuckle. “I haven’t made a proper joke in a long time.”

“Yeah, yeah. When are we heading out?” Stan asked, leaning back in his chair.

“I was thinking we could leave closer to the afternoon, when it gets warmer. That way Fiddleford doesn’t have to be all alone in the house for too long. We should be home before the kids this afternoon.” Ford said. “Before that, do you want anything for breakfast?”

“I was just going to have a bowl of cereal, but if you want, we could go out to the diner for breakfast.” Stan said. “I don’t think you’ve ever been.”

“Uh-- I don’t know…” Ford hunched over, scratching the back of his head.

“They have the best flapjacks in town, Ford, you gotta try ‘em. They’re real slow during the week so it shouldn’t be crowded.”

“...The same woman still runs it, right?” Ford asked tentatively. “I can’t quite remember her name, but…”

“Who, Lazy Susan? I think she’ll be working there until the building turns to dust or she keels over. Whichever comes first.” Stan said.

“I don’t remember people calling her Lazy Susan but… she’s a short woman with a beehive haircut? Lots of blue eyeshadow? Likes cats?” Ford asked.

“That’s the one! I’ll explain the, er, ‘lazy’ part to ya later.” Stan said. “She still works there, I promise.”

“...Then let’s go.” Ford said, standing up, clutching his coat closer around him, thankful for the touch of familiarity.

“How in the heck do you remember Lazy Susan, anyways? She kinda seemed like she knew you, but not very well if she didn’t notice the fact that ‘you’ seemed to gain about thirty pounds, ten inches of hair, and lose two fingers.”

“Well, Fidds and I used to go to the diner now and then after pulling all-nighters. She was one of the few townspeople who didn’t accuse me of being a communist.” Ford said. “I never really wanted to go, but… Well, Fidds had to drag me out of the house sometime, you know?”

“Wow… Did people actually accuse you of bein’ a commie? Because of all the science junk?”

“And the twelve PhD’s… and my fingers.” Ford said. “But it’s fine, everything turned out fine, the rumors died down after a while. And anyways, the Soviet Union disbanded a long time ago, so it's fine now.”

“You just found that out yesterday.” Stan said, rubbing his temples. “I don’t even have to ask how. I just _know_ that you found that out yesterday.”

“I don’t see your point… Are we getting pancakes or not?” Ford said. “It’ll be… interesting, seeing Susan again.”

Stan grinned and pulled his coat on. “Don’t tell me you had a crush on her, Ford. Been there, done that, too many cats.”

“Stan, did you forget a little something about my _romantic_ history?” Ford said, pointing towards the living room, where Fiddleford was setting out his suit.

“Hey, I’m not judging, you could be doing whatever it is you do with Fidds and still have an eye for a good lookin’ lady!”

“I heard that.” Fiddleford deadpanned.

“And _I_ did not harbor any romantic attraction towards Susan.” Ford said.

“Okay, okay!” Stan laughed, slapping his knee. “Take a joke, you two. Fidds, don’t forget to lock up after you leave, okay? We’re heading out to the diner.”

“Stan has his phone,” Ford paused. “Stan, you have your phone, right?”

“Yes, I do. He’ll be fine, Ford, don’t worry so much.” Stan said, rolling his eyes, grabbing Ford’s hand and pulling him to the door.

Ford waved goodbye to Fiddleford, quickly calling out an “I love you!” Before Stan dragged him outside and to the StanleyMobile.

“You two are cute together.” Stan said, starting up the car. “It almost makes me sick.”

“Oh, sorry… I’ll uh, try to tone it down?” Ford said, trying to stifle a yawn.

“You know that I’m happy for you, right?”

“You are?” Ford asked. “I mean, yeah, yes, of course.”

Stan shook his head with a laugh. “You gotta pick one, poindexter. I know you love him, and I’m glad you found someone. Lord only knows how you managed to settle down before I did, but you did it!”

“...You’re not jealous or anything, are you?”

Stan laughed, almost snorting. “Of you and your hillbilly boyfriend who’s balding and is missing more teeth than I am? No thanks.” Stan paused. “What the hell gave you that idea?”

“Well, I’ve been to universes where… he was _your_ hillbilly boyfriend.” Ford said. “You two… settled down, you were really happy together. I didn’t _mind_ , I wasn’t jealous, that’s not what I’m trying to say, I just--” Ford took a deep breath. “I knew that they weren’t my versions of you and Fiddleford, they were similar, yes, but separate from _you_ and him. He just seemed… happier with you than he ever seemed with me.”

Stan frowned, placing a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “So maybe I ended up with him in some other universe. _Your_ Fiddleford seems really happy to me. He loves you, Ford, I don’t think he’s been happier.”

“You… you really think so?” Ford asked. “Your alternate selves and I got along well enough, but…”

“Well, all of those alternate versions of me probably had as much sense as I do. Though, I will say, I think _I_ have better taste in men. I like the... suave types, yanno? With money. City boys.”

“I’ll admit… it was nice hanging out with your alternate selves when I could.” Ford said. “It wasn’t often I found a dimension with other versions of us in them. It’s been a long time since I visited one, nearly fifteen years, but it was nice. Nicer than a lot of the other dimensions I was in. I’ll have to tell you about it sometime.”

“I’m surprised you even wanted to talk to _any_ version of me…” Stan sighed. “But I guess it felt like a piece of home, huh?”

“It was… Stan, even when we were fighting, I… I really did miss you.” Ford said. “And the-- the awful thing about it is that in a lot of those other dimensions… Bill pulled the same trick on them as he did on us. I _knew_ he was capable of orchestrating something like that and I still ignored that possibility for so long.”

“Oh, so _that’s_ why you were blaming yourself for that.” Stan said. “Look, don’t do that, don’t get caught up in that. I love you, whether you figured out that asshole’s plan or not.”

Ford gave Stan a wide smile. “Thanks. I-- I really needed to hear that.”

“Let’s stop being sappy, alright? It’s chow time.” Stan chuckled and punched Ford’s arm as they pulled into Greasy’s Diner, into Stan’s usual parking space. “You’re gonna love this place, I don’t think they’ve changed the menu once in the past thirty years!”

“Sounds very promising.” Ford said as he got out of the car, pulling his coat around himself tight. _There are only two other cars in the parking lot, the diner can’t be too busy, you’ll be fine._

Stan and Ford made their way inside, greeted by a warm rush of indoor heating. Ford ducked into the first booth, closest to the door, though Stan was halfway to his usual booth in the middle of the restaurant by the time he noticed. He quickly turned and slipped into the other side of Ford’s booth. “Closer to the door, huh?” He said, quietly.

“I was just picking a booth, Stan… It’s fine, we can move if you--”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Stan said. “We’ve already sat down, anyways.”

Lazy Susan approached the booth with her usual grin, her notepad ready to take Stan and Ford’s order. “Well hey, you. And… Wow, there’s two of you! Hey, have we met before?”

“Yes.” Stan and Ford said, simultaneously.

“Er, it’s a long story.” Ford said, scratching his head. “I’ll have the--”

“Oh, let me guess, a coffee omelet with toast, and a tall glass of orange juice?” Susan said, the usual order easily resurfacing despite the fact that Ford hadn’t ordered it in thirty years. Despite the fact that she barely recalled ever meeting Ford in the first place.

“Y-yes! How did you know that…?” Ford asked, shocked.

“Oh, I remember everyone’s usual, silly!” Susan said, laughing. “That toast should be rye bread, right?”

“Yes. Yes, please.” Ford said.

“And you want the number seven, right?” She asked, pointing to Stan. “And some cherry pie!”

“You got it, sweetheart.” Stan said, giving Susan a wink.

“I’ll be right back! _Wink_.” Susan said, lifting her eyelid in a false wink before walking away.

“...I can’t believe she remembered that.” Ford said, quietly, once Susan was gone.

“She’s a real pro.” Stan said. “Just… a little awkward when she’s not workin’.”

“Wow… I hardly remembered my own order.” Ford said. “This… This is nice, I’m glad you suggested it.”

“Of course, I love this place.” Stan leaned back in his seat. “You know, Susan is an old flame of mine.”

“Is she now? Mind telling that story?” Ford asked, chuckling a bit.

“Well… When I started up my business, I may or may not have caused Susan’s lazy eye with one of your science doodads.” Stan said, crossing his arms.

“You mentioned that, yes.” Ford said.

“Well, of course I felt bad about that, so I offered to take her out on a date. I’m a gentleman after all.”

“Oh, I’m sure, if your flirting style now is any way like how it was when we were teenagers.” Ford said, rolling his eyes.

“Like I was _saying_ , I took her out on a date, and then another… and before I knew it, I was buying Valentine’s Day presents and cat food. She was a sweet gal, don’t get me wrong… But I didn’t feel right giving her all my attention when I needed to work on getting you home. So we broke it off.”

“O-Oh, Stan… I’m sorry, you didn’t have to do that…” Ford stammered, frowning. “I was fine, I would’ve been fine.”

“No, Ford, you weren’t fine… It wouldn’t have worked out between us anyway. She’s nice, on the clock and off, but we don’t exactly _click_ , if you know what I’m saying. I’ve had far worse heartbreak in my day, believe me.”

Ford was about to say something else, when two plates of food were set down in front of them, along with a glass of orange juice and a mug of apple cider.

“Food!” Lazy Susan proclaimed, before walking away to take another customer’s order.

Stan got right to eating his breakfast, a big stack of pancakes, along with two eggs over easy and a few strips of bacon. Ford was a little slower, carefully using his fork to cut off a tiny piece of the coffee soaked omelet, tentatively raising it to his mouth. He was ecstatic to find that it tasted the same as he remembered it tasting, the bitter coffee not mixing particularly well with the eggs but providing a much needed rush of caffeine.

“You really eat the coffee omelet? Does… does it taste good?” Stan raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t the most appetizing looking breakfast.

“No, but it’s quick and absolutely _fantastic_ early in the morning when you’ve spent the whole night working. I think the first time I had it was when Fiddleford dragged me over here, half asleep.” Ford said. “And it’s definitely not the worst thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“I've probably eaten worse, too.” Stan said. “Actually, scratch that, I _have_ eaten worse. You ever gone dumpster diving in Philly? Not pretty.”

Something in Ford’s heart sank, even as he let out a hearty chuckle. “I don’t believe I have. Doesn’t sound very appetizing. Though… At least anything you find in Philadelphia won’t have ten insect legs and turn out to be venomous. Unless you go to Dimension 3920.”

“That sounds more like Jersey, honestly.” Stan said, laughing. “Okay, so, I have to ask… Dipper told me the other day that you ate a rock once.”

“I did not eat a rock. I tasted a rock.” Ford said, crossing his arms. “And I _told_ Dipper that I was only doing it to determine if it was a fossil or not.”

“How the hell would you fucking know that?”

“Well, Stan, fossils don’t taste like rocks.” Ford said. “It has to do with the taste of the minerals that compose most fossils.

Stan shook his head. “I don’t wanna know how you made that discovery.”

“I didn’t discover it, I learned it from my professor back in college when I was getting my paleontology degree.” Ford said.

“So you decided the best way to test that out was by _licking_ strange rocks?” Stan said, raising an eyebrow.

“Stan, you’re making this sound more ridiculous than it is.” Ford said.

“See, this is why I don’t get science.” Stan huffed. “You’ve got twelve goddamned PhD’s but you go around doing weird shit like that.”

“The PhD’s are just to learn what everyone else already knows, Stan.” Ford said. “Science is like walking through a dark room trying to find the light switch. Except you’re blindfolded and your arms are tied behind your back, so you have to rely on your sense of smell to get through the room and find the switch. And sometimes you think you’ve found it, and then it turns out that there wasn’t a light switch at all, you’re supposed to be looking for a chain to turn the bulb on. And sometimes no one in the room has a blindfold on, and the room is fully lit, but everyone’s going around saying that it’s dark until someone says ‘hey, the light is on’ and then everyone goes ‘oh of course, the light was on’ and that’s that. Anyone can do it, really. A large majority of the multiverse’s discoveries were made by ordinary people who were just living in the world around them.”

“Shit, Stanford, I never knew you were so poetic.” Stanley said, belching and then covering his mouth. “‘Scuse me.”

“Uh… w-well, I guess I needed something to do with my free time…” Ford stammered.

“Wait, do you still write poetry? Like you did in high school?” Stan tried to hold back a laugh.

“Not in a very long time, no, but… sometimes when I needed a distraction I’d write a few lines down.” Ford said.

“Wow, Ford, you’re quite the Renaissance man!” Stan said.

“Not really, no.” Ford took another bite of his omelet. “It’s not as important to me as my research, anyways.”

“It’s cool that you have some kind of hobby, though.” Stanley shrugged, finishing off his eggs. “Like me with sewing.”

“It was just something to occupy my spare time, when I had any.” Ford said. “It's not much of a hobby.”

Stan shrugged and finished up his plate just as Susan brought over two slices of cherry pie. “Here you go, on the house!” She said, laughing. “Do you fellas need anything else?”

“Uh, no thank you, Susan.” Ford said. “I think we're good for today.”

“Alright, I’ll get your check!” She said. “Say, how come you aren't in your usual booth today?” She asked, causing Ford to tense.

“Oh, we're just mixing it up today, Lazy Susan.” Stan said with a wink, hoping that Susan would take the hint so Ford could relax.

“Oh that sounds fun, maybe I'll mix it up, too!” Susan said, starting to walk backwards. “Well whaddya know, it is fun!” She said, just before walking right into the wall of the diner. “I’m okay!”

“...She’s a bit more _eccentric_ than I remember.” Ford said, once Susan had disappeared into the kitchen.

“Yeah, as she got older… she kinda lost her charm.” Stan said.

“She’s also exhibiting a few symptoms of having the memory gun used on her…” Ford said, quietly. “Dipper said the Society of the Blind Eye had affected the entire town, but… I wonder just how many memories were erased.”

Fiddleford sat up as straight as he could while looking over the menu at Nothing But Noodles, adjusting his old, cracked glasses to see the tiny print better. “Well, gee, it seems this place really is nothin’ but noodles.”

“At least they’ll never get sued for false advertising.” Jill said, laughing a bit. “It really is nice to meet you.” Jill was an Amish interpretation of the birth of Venus, beautiful, but very plain.

“It’s nice to finally meet you too. I like to see that you make Tate happy.” Fiddleford set down his menu to smile over at Tate across the table

“Aw, shucks, it’s nothing.” Jill said. “It’s easy enough to get him flustered.”

“Hey, now.” Tate chided. “Not in front ‘a my father.”

“I really appreciate you two takin’ me out, it’s mighty kind of you.” Fiddleford said, fighting the urge to tug nervously at his beard. _I wish Stanford were here… he’d like this. He’d like getting to know my son again, maybe that’d let ‘im know I ain’t leavin’ him. Maybe I ought to bring him along next time._

“You alright, Dad?” Tate asked, noticing that Fiddleford had been spaced out for a while.

“Oh! Sorry, I’m fine, Tater-tot.” Fiddleford said. “Honest, I was just ’a ponderin’ somethin’ Ford told me this mornin’.”

“Ford? Stanford, right? Tate was tellin’ me he’s your, uh, partner?” Jill asked.

“Yes ma’am.” Fiddleford said, quietly. “He goes by Stanford or Ford, and his brother goes by Stanley or Stan. And, er, Ford’s a little shy about the subject of us datin’ so he and I would appreciate yer discretion, Jill.”

“Oh, yes, of course! I think it’s very sweet that you have him after all of those years apart. It’s very romantic.” Jill said, smiling at Tate and placing her hand over his.

A waitress with a _very_ dead look in her eyes came to the table to take everyone’s order. “Welcome to Nothing But Noodles, where you have to use your noodle. My name is Tambry, I’ll be your server today. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Oh, hello, ma’am.” Jill said. “I’d like a sweet tea if you don’t mind.”

“And I’d like one as well.” Tate said.

“Water f-fer me, please” Fiddleford said, gripping the menu nervously. _Christ, now I **really** wish Stanford were here…_

“Alright. I’ll give you a few more minutes to look over your menus, and I’ll be right back with your drinks. Don’t forget to use your noodle.” Tambry droned before walking away, feeling as if the life was being sucked out of her.

“Good lord, does everybody have to say that ‘round these parts?” Fiddleford asked.

“I believe so, yes.” Tate said.

“Those teenagers get stuck with the w-worst jobs, don’t they?” Fiddleford blurted, attempting to make conversation, “When Ford and I w-were in college, we were lucky enough to not have’ta work. We had lots more time to dedicate to studies, and Ford and I made most of our tuition payments in the form’a fancy scholarships.”

“Oh, wow, you two have known each other since you were in college?” Jill asked.

“Yes ma’am.” Fiddleford said. “We didn’t like each other too much at first, I reckon he was off put by my banjo when we first met, and Backupsmore in general. He spent so much time studyin’ his first semester we didn’t really get ta know each other. But finals week came around and I swear, I think Ford ate nothing but flour tortillas and coffee the week before, the poor dear didn’t take enough of a break from studying to fix himself a proper meal. Of course he got sick, bless his heart, so I decided I was gonna go an’ talk to his professors and get them to let ‘im make up the finals. I reckon that was what got us actually talkin’ to each other.” Fiddleford said. “You know, he worked so hard, I only recall him comin’ out of our dorm once during that first semester. And even then, it was to go back to his family for Hanukkah, and he came back two days early lookin’ downright miserable.” Fiddleford rambled nervously.

“Oh wow, he sounds like quite the introvert?” Jill added, sensing Fiddleford wasn’t quite finished with his story. “At least back then.”

“Yeah, he just needed to get used to college.” Fiddleford said. “He can be quite the shut in still, actually... But that’s more than understandable given the situation.”

“He treats you well, doesn’t he?” Tate interjected.

“Oh, yes!” Fiddleford responded immediately. “He’s a very gentle soul, even if he’s a little rough around the edges, protective of his whole family. He always includes me in the Pines family matters.”

“He’s not…” Tate fumbled over his words. “Dad, I know _I_ messed up by actin’ like I was ashamed’a you, but that don’t mean no one else gets to treat you that way.” He said, somberly.

“No, no! He couldn’t harm a hair on my head even if he wanted to!” Fiddleford said. “The last memories he has of bein’ in this dimension aren’t good, things were a lot worse back in ‘82, he’s just cautious is all. If he had the confidence we’d be more of a power couple than Sheriff Blubbs and Deputy Durland. He’s a good man, Tate, I promise you.” Fiddleford said, his eyes pleading for Tate’s trust, for his approval, his heart swelling at the realization that his words were true, Stanford Pines truly loved him, he wasn’t ashamed of him in the slightest.

“Dear,” Jill spoke to her husband. “I think you’ve been livin’ up here so long you forgot that not everywhere is like Gravity Falls. Even now, with everything that’s changed, you couldn’t pay me to take your father to Georgia.” She said. “Take it from someone who grew up there, even in the big cities it’s not pretty. I think Stanford’s got every reason in the world to think it’s not safe.”

Fiddleford stared at his lap, grabbing his beard with one hand. “I reckon you don’t know the half of it.”

Tate frowned, and placed a hand on Fiddleford’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Dad.”

“No, no, it’s fine, Tate.” Fiddleford said, putting his hand over Tate’s. “I know you’re just lookin’ out for me.”

Tambry returned to the table with their drinks, with long hollow noodles for straws. “Here you are.” She honestly couldn’t look more done with the whole situation. “Remember to use your noodle. Have you decided on what you want to order?”

Fiddleford looked like a deer in the headlights, he hadn’t bothered really reading the menu, and he definitely hadn't ordered anything from a restaurant in ages.

“I’ll have the chicken parmesan.” Tate said, handing Tambry his menu.

“An order of shrimp scampi for me, please.” Jill said.

Fiddleford’s hands shook, he felt like everyone was staring at him, he felt like the eyes were back. He scanned the menu, searching for the cheapest dish and blurting out, “S-spaghetti, if you don’t m-mind.”

“Alright. I’ll be back with your orders shortly.” Tambry said, gently taking the menu from Fiddleford and giving him a rare smile. She’d dealt with her fair share of anxious customers, who were likely unaware that she could care less what they did or how they acted as long as they spoke nicely, tipped well, and didn’t make a mess.

Fiddleford sipped his water, suddenly feeling very parched, draining the entire glass quickly.

“Are you sure you're alright, dad?” Tate asked.

“Did I do somethin’ wrong? I haven’t done this eatin’ in public thing in a while.” Fiddleford said, trying to take deep breaths.

“Oh… _Oh,_ no Dad, you're fine, I promise. That waitress is just dead inside, it's not you.” Tate said. “I'm sorry.”

“You’re fine! I’ve seen far worse table manners from your son here before.” Jill patted Fiddleford’s hand sweetly.

“Oh, he was always a messy eater, especially as a baby.” Fiddleford said. “His mother, Janet, and I could never get him to use his table manners. If Tate wasn’t wearin’ what he was eatin’, he didn’t like it!” Fiddleford chuckled softly. “I wish I still had pictures.”

“Wait-- you remember that far back?” Tate asked, incredulous.

“Darlin’, he was just telling us stories from before you were born!”

“I can’t tell you how happy I was when Stanford’s machine helped me remember you. I think it’s all mostly there again.” Fiddleford said, a soft smile on his face.

“Like when I would visit you as a kid?” Tate asked.

“And how you used to call Ford your uncle and you used to _insist_ on playin’ patty cake with him instead’a me cause ‘his were a full finger more fun than normal’.” Fiddleford said. “And we used to go fishing on the lake, and you felt bad about wantin’ to spend Christmas with yer mom instead’a me, so we'd have Christmas in August to make up for it.”

“Y-You really remember all that?” Tate asked. “...What machine was this again? And has Stanford considered getting a patent?”

“He calls it Project Mentem… I think he just likes flaunting the fact that he's fluent in Latin.” Fiddleford mused. “And I think he'll get a patent later, maybe. For a brilliant inventor he hasn't really showed off too many of his inventions to the public.” Fiddleford knew how Ford was about showing off his inventions and research outside of people he trusted. Just being labeled as a “mysterious scientist” also labeled him as a communist, and Ford hadn't exactly been comfortable with people before that. “Though that may or may not be ‘cause of the whole… trapped between dimensions thing.”

“I see…” Tate said. “He should definitely consider it.”

Back at the shack, Stanford carefully loaded his crossbow and grabbed an old leather messenger bag from the hall closet. “Stanley, are you ready yet?” He called. It had been ages since he’d gotten a chance to explore the forest around Gravity Falls, and he was itching to get started, especially since Stanley would be joining him.

Stan pulled on his coat, his black leather gloves, and joined Ford in the living room to put on his boots and lace them up. “I’m gettin’ there, poindexter, keep your shirt on!” He huffed.

“Sorry, I just… You’re really going to like what this forest has to offer in the winter. Snow-nymphs, yetis, basabasa, winter spirits and frost giants, barbegazi, they’re like winter gnomes, an _amazing_ array of flora that only bloom in winter-- If I recall correctly there should be a species of lily that can freeze boiling water in an instant!” Ford said. “Hopefully we won’t run into a Ghilan, but if we do I’m prepared to take one down.”

“I think _you’re_ hopin’ to run into one.” Stan said with a smile, noting how excited his brother looked just from talking about all the weird crap he could find in the forest

“I-- Well a Ghilan definitely wouldn’t be the most fearsome thing I’ve ever faced, but there’s nothing to worry about, most Ghilan live farther south, in the Rocky Mountains. Gravity Falls might be a hotspot for supernatural anomalies but for some reason Ghilan have migrated en masse. There used to be, by my estimate, roughly one to three thousand of them in this area, if their fossils are any indication.” Ford said. “Something drove them away and if I can just figure out what-- Well, that’s an endeavor for another time, I suppose.”

“Yeah, let’s get the rock hunting out of the way, alright?” Stan said, folding his arms. “And don’t Ghilan eat _people_? Maybe let’s _not_ go out lookin’ for them, okay?”

“It’s not just rocks, we’re looking for artifacts and plants as well. Specifically, we’re looking for quartz and granite. There are also some ancient temples near the cliffs we’re going to raid.” Stanford said.

“Raiding temples? So… basically we’re treasure hunting?” Stan asked, raising an eyebrow, a hopeful smile on his face.

“...Somewhere far, far away from New Jersey, yes.” Ford said, quietly, fidgeting with his hands. “I… I know it’s no Stan-O-War, but…”

Stan suddenly wrapped Ford in a bear hug, gripping Ford’s coat. “Thank you, Ford.”

Stanford stood perfectly still in the hug, before relaxing and wrapping his own arms around Stanley. “Don’t thank me for something I should have done over thirty years ago.” Ford held Stan tighter, not wanting to let go, regretting ever having let go in the first place. “Wherever we go, we go together… right?”

“Right.” Stan replied, patting Ford on the pack and pulling away, a wide smile on his face. “Alright, let’s go steal some old crap!”

“It doesn’t count as stealing if there’s no one around to reclaim it!” Ford said, returning Stan’s smile.

Stan bounded outside, practically leaping into the snow, filled with excitement. “Ford, this is gonna be a blast!”

Ford let out a hearty chuckle, following Stan outside. His heart soared when he saw the truly genuine smile on Stan's face, he was _excited, he looks so happy. It's been a lifetime since I've seen him that happy, I… I can't believe I almost forgot._

Stan adjusted the scarf he was wearing, a bright pink one, handmade by his favorite niece. “So where is this place, anyways?”

“The deep voiced druids of old built temples just on the edge of town, near the cliffs. We’ll be heading there first.” Ford said. “There’s an easy enough path to get to them through the forest.”

“Is this the same patch of woods where you got kidnapped by the board game wizard?” Stan asked. “Which, may I remind you, was maybe three days after I’d _just_ spent thirty years getting your ass out of an apocalypse portal?” Stan teased, nudging Ford’s arm.

“No, _that_ was in the opposite direction.” Ford said, huffing and crossing his arms. “The temples are to the west, this way.” He said, leading Stan through the woods, the snow crunching beneath his feet.

Stan shoved his hands in his pockets and followed Ford through the dense woods, taking in the winter scenery, actually enjoying it for once. “So there’s some kinda ice flower growing in these woods?”

“Oh, yes! One year when my refrigerator stopped working I just started growing those flowers in a box. Kept my groceries cold for a few months while I fixed the fridge.” Ford said.

“And it only grows in the winter?” Stan asked.

“Well, I might have ran the air conditioner bill a little to keep the house cold enough for the flowers-- But it was worth it!” Ford said.

Stan chuckled and rolled his eyes. “That’s a complete waste of air conditioning money. I would kick your ass if you did that around me.”

“It was for science! Imagine all the possibilities, if we could isolate the plant's freezing quality we'd run Freon out of business!” Ford said.

“I can imagine the possibilities, if _I’m_ not payin’ the bill.” Stan huffed.

“Well you weren't, I was. With a research grant. For the express purpose of researching the anomalies in this town.” Ford said.

Stan halted, and pointed to a white lily that looked very out of place in the snow. “Is that it there?”

Ford looked over to where Stanley was pointing. “Ah, yes. That's it. These babies could be an environmentally friendly alternative to air conditioning, refrigerators, automotive coolant-- If only they didn't have such a short lifespan! Oh, and one other thing: _don't_ let it touch your skin, unless you want frostbite.” Ford said, kneeling next to the plant and poking it with a stick. The stick froze instantly. “See what I mean?”

“Woah, and that's probably the _least_ weird thing about this town.” Stan said.

“Alright, the temple ruins should be just ahead.” Stanford said, dusting the snow off his pants as he stood.

“So, are there booby traps, anything holding us up from snatching stuff?” Stan said. “Columbia was bad enough the first time, I don't need a spooky repeat in druid jail.”

“Don't worry, Fiddleford and I disabled most of the booby traps ages ago. The ancient druids were known for their summoning incantations, able to call upon beasts from across worlds with their magic. That's why we need their artifacts.” Ford said. “And that's also why we should keep our guard up, the last time I was in here there were more than a few ghosts and spirits guarding the place.”

“Anything we should be worried about?” Stan asked. “I'd like to _avoid_ a hospital visit, thank you.”

“We'll be _fine._ Should we encounter anything inside the temple, I can handle it.” Ford said, puffing out his chest.

“I’m not gonna stand in the background and do nothing, Ford, I can help.” Stan huffed.

“Well _I'm_ not going to put you in harm's way.” Ford said, crossing his arms.

Stan crossed his arms, mirroring Ford. “I’m not lettin’ you fight off more ghosts and spooky shit than you can handle.

“I-- Stanley, I know you can. But I can't ask you to do that for me.” Ford said. “Not after everything _else_ you've done for me.”

Stan shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ford, I wanna do this stuff for you, okay? Now that you’re home again, you can’t do everything alone.”

“Alright…” Ford sighed. “Alright, here's how you fight a ghost: rocks. Silver will trap a ghost, or hurt it at the very least. Different rocks will either hurt or help it, so don't just go tossing any stone you see.”

“Okay, rocks. Quartz is what we’re lookin for right? Is that one I should throw?

“It… depends. Some varieties are a definite yes, and some, like agate, will ward against possession. Those are typically the more opaque varieties, we're looking for a translucent crystal. Like the kind mom used to collect for her business. Turns out she was onto something after all.”

“Ahh, alright, I got it. Did she ever use the real thing? I thought they were all glass.” Stan said.

“Most were just glass, but she did have a few genuine ones.” Ford said, nodding softly.

“Yeah, I think I remember dropping one that didn’t shatter once or twice.” Stan mused.

“Look, we're here!” Ford said, pointing to an overgrown cave entrance that… didn't look like anything spectacular. “The entrance to the temple is just inside that cavern, let's go!”

“You sure about this? Doesn’t look very… magical.” Stan said, poking at the dead vines, sending ice and snow falling to the ground.

 “Oh, just wait until we get to the entrance. It's _beautiful._ ” Ford said. “The druids built it from below the ground up, from parts and scrap metal they salvaged from the UFO that's buried even _further_ down-- it must have been thousands of years ago at the very least, the sheer amount of manpower it took to build this place is unprecedented!”

“That’s actually pretty impressive.” Stan shrugged following Ford through the cave. Ford plucked an ancient torch from the cave wall, using the ferrocerium rod in his pocket to light it. The cave walls flickered in the light of the torch as Ford led them further into the cavern.

Stan shivered as they ventured further into the cave, shoving his hands in his pockets. Eventually, the dreary cave walls opened up into a massive cavern, with an underground temple situated at the bottom. Ford and Stan made their way down an intricately carved staircase, each helping the other keep their balance on the eroded and narrow steps. Stan lightly reached his fingertips along the cavern walls, filled with an anxious excitement; this was, in a sense, what he and his brother had always wanted.

The temple was enormous, carved from stone and metal, with what Stan could tell, even from a distance, was a series of intricate carvings inlaid with gold. The entrance, however, was hidden from sight. “Uh, Ford,” Stan asked. “Did we come in from the wrong side? How do we get in? Is there some password?”

Ford gave Stan a sly smile, cracked his knuckles and cleared his throat, approaching the wall of the temple with a dramatic wave of his coat. “ _Nach é seo an cantaireacht fíor,_ ” He chanted, in a deep, booming voice, his arms outstretched. The gold inlays began to glow pink. “ _Níl sé fiú sa teanga cheart, Ní raibh muid ábalta teacht ar aistritheoir gaelach. Lá maith agat._ ” The inlays glowed brighter, until the stone and metal of the temple parted, revealing an entrance that had been previously hidden.

Stan stood in awe, his mouth agape. “Holy _shit,_ Ford. Dad should’a let you join the glee club. Are you some sorta wizard and you never told me?”

“W-what? No, no, the druids themselves weren’t magic, but their artifacts were. They resonate with low tones. I-- I’m not a wizard, but that would be… pretty cool if I was.” Ford said.

Stan have Ford an affectionate punch in the arm and laughed. “That was impressive, Ford! I didn't even know you could carry a tune!”

“The _important_ thing is that it got the door open.” Ford said, glancing away.

“Hell yeah it did, let's go find some treasure, Poindexter!” Stan said, rushing into the temple.

“Stan, wait!” Ford called, running in after him. “If I remember correctly-- _Don’t move!_ ” Ford shouted, rushing up to Stan, who had stopped in the middle of a large room with a dirt floor, filled to the brim with idols and piles of dirt. Ford carefully grabbed Stan’s arm and led him out of the room, deeper into the temple. “ _Please_ , don’t go rushing in like that.”

“Was there something back there? Ghosts? Booby traps? Monsters?” Stan asked, raising an eyebrow. “Look, I know you don’t want me fighti--”

“Sometimes it’s monsters. Sometimes it’s ghosts. But _sometimes_ when you walk into an ancient druid temple, it’s _ants_.” Ford huffed. “Are you alright? You didn’t get any on you, right?”

“Ants? Are you fucking serious?” Stanley said, crossing his arms.

“Does this look like the face of someone who wasn’t nearly eaten alive by fire ants the first time they came down here?” Ford said, pointing at his face. “When Fiddleford and I first discovered this place… I _may_ have come across their nest. And I… _may_ have thought it was a buried idol, and I _may_ have tried to excavate it. Here’s a tip: _do not try to excavate fire ants. They don’t like it._ ”

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Ford, I know a pile of ants when I see one.”

Ford felt his face flush with embarrassment. “Well _I_ didn’t, and _I’m_ not taking any chances. Ants hurt like a bitch, and that’s coming from someone who’s had their lungs collapse before.”

“Alright, alright, I'll keep my eyes peeled. Now, where's the _treasure_?” Stan asked, rubbing his hands together.

Ford’s face brightened at that. “Down in the next chamber. I hope you like old, rickety rope bridges, because we’ll have to cross one to get there.”

Stan couldn't hide the glee on his expression, and tried not to run ahead of Ford. “Come on, a little rope bridge isn’t going to stop Stanley Pines!”

Ford smiled, leading Stan into the next chamber, across a bridge that stood high above a deep chasm, just next to an underground waterfall. “This ravine was formed by that waterfall millions of years ago. The druids believed its waters to be sacred, and would often use it for spiritual cleansings. It also powers some of the more… _elaborate_ booby traps deeper in the temple.” Ford said as they crossed the ravine, pausing to look out over the bridge at the sight before them, illuminated by Ford’s torch. “I never thought I’d see this place again.” He added, quietly, the words lost to the roar of the waterfall.

Stan nudged Ford with his elbow and grinned, taking a careful step onto the bridge “This is some pretty cool shit, Ford.”

“Stan, be careful! Don’t look down, alright?” Ford said, keeping his tone even. “Just keep your eyes on me.”

“What, are you scared?” Stan asked, looking over his shoulder at Ford.

“No, of course not, this is nothing. There’s a bigger drop to get to the UFO from the entrance by the cliffs.” Ford said. “Aren’t… _you_ scared? Of heights? I know you don’t like to admit it, but--”

“What…? No! Mabel helped me get over that this summer… well… she blindfolded me and led me up to the water tower, and we got stuck up there thanks to that Robbie kid and his… _square friend_ until I worked up the courage to get us down. This is nothing compared to being stuck in a rickety water tower with your small niece who’s scared out of her socks.” Stan said. “And now I’m not afraid of heights! I even did a cocky dance, just to be sure.” He joked, nudging Ford’s arm.

“Wow. That’s… that’s great, Stan.” Ford said. “Wait, did you say _square_ friend?”

“I dunno, I think he was some living video game guy? Dipper knows more about it than I do.” Stan shrugged.

“You mentioned sentient video game people before,” Ford said, leading Stan across the bridge. “Is that… is that common in this dimension? Is that just what video games are now?”

“No, that’s not supposed to happen. I’m pretty sure they’re supposed to be confined to screens.” Stan said.

“Oh.” Ford said, adjusting his grip on the torch. “...The next chamber should have the artifacts we need.”

“So, in addition to the nerd stuff you need, can we just… take what we want?” Stan asked.

“As long as there's not a ghost or a booby trap attached to it, yes.” Ford said. “There's no one around to really need or miss these idols, or use the treasure. So we should be fine.”

“Perfect! Do you need to do any more fancy tricks to get into the next chamber?” Stan asked.

“No, we should be fine. There _is_ a hidden chamber we'd need to recite a chant to open, but Fiddleford and I cleared that room out decades ago.” Ford said. “It's just an empty room.”

“Can… ya do it anyway?” Stan asked.

“Huh? Why would you-- Stan, I swear, if this is some sort of _prank,_ I'm-- So help me I'll--” Ford stumbled over his words, unable to think of an appropriate threat. “I will get Mabel to put glitter on everything you own.”

“What? Ford, no, I’m serious. That's a cool trick, it’s really neat to watch. You don’t have to if you don’t want to…” Stan said.

“You… you really think it's neat? I thought that thousand year old nerd chants weren't really your thing. You're really serious about this? I mean-- I don't mind opening the hidden chamber, there are some old paintings and hieroglyphics inside I could show you, to make it worth our while.” Ford said, sheepishly.

Stan clapped Ford on the back with a laugh. “That’s the spirit! Show off those pipes some more.”

“It's really nothing special. I'm sure you could perform the chants as well, anyone with a deep enough voice could.” Ford said. 

“Nah, I’m no singer.” Stan said with a shrug. “Now let’s get a move on!”

“Right!” Ford said, leading Stan into the next chamber. “Prepare to be amazed!” He said, gesturing about the chamber with the torch. The firelight reflected off of dozens of idols, ancient artifacts made of gold and pewter. Bismuth and rose quartz crystals decorated the room, and an ancient text lined the walls, pulsing with a long forgotten magic.

Stan reached out carefully, tracing the crystal lined walls with his gloved hands, he had never seen something so genuinely ornate in his life. “It’s… so beautiful. Let’s pilfer it until there’s nothing left!”

Ford chuckled, “We’ll take what we need, and then whatever we can carry.” He said. “And remember, there _are_ booby traps here.” He added. “So be careful.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it!” Stan said, cautiously approaching a golden idol, inlaid with beautiful stones atop a pillar of pewter. “This would look beautiful in the shack!”

“ _That_ is a summoning idol, I’ll need it for my research. But when I’m done with it, it’ll be the Mystery Shack’s newest attraction!” Ford said, plucking bismuth and quartz crystals from the walls and placing them in his messenger bag. He stifled a yawn. The caffeine pills were wearing off, he'd need another cup of coffee soon to keep himself awake.

“You mean it?” Stan asked, “Thanks, Ford! This’ll bring in a lot of money for the shack! Should I just grab it, or do I need to Indiana Jones it?”

“That one?” Ford handed Stan the torch, placing his hands on the idol and testing its weight, looking for hidden strings, his every sense on high alert for a lingering spirit. “We should be fine just grabbing it.”

Stan gave Ford the torch back and snatched the idol away from the pillar, shocked at how heavy it really was, holding it up in victory. “Treasure!”

“Want to see what one looks like when a spirit’s guarding it?” Ford asked, smirking and gesturing to the other end of the room, where a second idol gave off a faint teal glow.

“Woah, that’s gorgeous! That one’s booby trapped, right?” Stan asked.

“There’s a ghost or a spirit guarding it, yes. As long as we don’t disturb it, we should be able to get out of here with as much as we can carry.” Ford said. “It must be thousands of years old, it’s likely lost all memory of who it was in life, I’d say it’s a category ten. Oh, but the stories it might be able to tell, if only it could! The spirits guarding this temple are dangerous and single minded, they will kill to protect the temple. At least… until they’re made aware that the druids died out a long time ago.” Ford said. “The first time Fidds and I came across one, we were lucky enough to have an eight track with us, to prove to the spirit that the druids no longer existed. It seemed to cross over at that point, thank heavens.”

“Ford, you’re gonna have to write all of that down for me. If I tell that story about this statue, I’ll drain the tourists dry, they live for this crap!” Stan said. “I can make them believe this statue is the cursed one, easy.”

“Really?” Ford asked. “I-- I have some notes I took out in the multiverse, I’d-- I was planning on consolidating them into a scientific paper, and I’ve… I’ve been trying to work out a way to share my findings with the world, without anyone making the same mistakes I made, without risking anyone opening a portal to the nightmare realm and letting Bill into our world. If you don’t… _mind_ , that is… I’d like to share them with you sometime.”

“I’ve read through your journals, Ford, but I’d like to hear your stories. If you make some kind of nerd book, I’m sure it would sell out quick.” Stan said. “All you have to do to keep people from thinking that stuff’s true is make ‘em think it’s not! Let ‘em think the book is fiction, that’s what I tried to do with Dipper when I found out he had your journal. I mean, to most people, let’s be honest, it wouldn’t be _hard_ to convince them a book about sci-fi sideburn dimensions was fiction.”

“Stanley, the public masses wouldn’t be able to _comprehend_ , much less _enjoy_ some of what I’ve been through. Publishing my notes as a purely scientific journal is… really the best I can do.” Ford said, grabbing a pewter candelabra and tucking it into the messenger bag.

Stan began plucking crystals from the wall as well, shoving them in his pockets. “Well, I’m tellin’ you, that the story you just told me is a cash crop in itself right there.” He said.

“I’ll… I’ll give it some thought, okay?”

“You know… You don’t have to, of course, but if you ever want to help out with tours at the Shack, I wouldn’t mind. You wouldn’t even have to interact with customers, just… helpin’ me out with my attractions and stories and stuff… You could make all of that stuff real.” Stan said. “I know the Shack isn’t really your cup of tea, but… If you ever wanted to make an attraction, I wouldn’t say no.”

“Really?” Ford paused to look at Stan in disbelief, “You seem to know that you’re doing, what attracts customers. You’re… you’re really good with people, you’re fantastic at running a business. Even Dad couldn’t keep the pawnshop up forever. You’ve already outlasted him by about seven years? I think? Could be more...” He said, rubbing his chin, and trying to keep his eyelids from drooping.

Stan fell silent, his body going eerily still. Suddenly, he wasn’t in the temple with Ford anymore, he was in a South Carolina phone booth, starving and using his last quarter to dial the number that Filbrick Pines always answered: the business line for Pines Pawns. He could hear his own shaky, tear choked voice. _Dad? D-Dad, it’s me, Stanley, I’m-- Dad, I’m_ _sorry, I’m so so sorry, it was an accident a mistake, I-- I can’t do it. I can’t get the fortune I c-ch-cheated from you. P-please, just let me come back, I’ll work for you, for free, you don’t have to give me a cent. p-please, pa, I-I just w-wana come **ho--**_ he’d been cut off by an answering machine, the first time he’d ever heard one on that line.

_“Pines Pawns is closed for business. Forever.”_

He hadn’t worked up the courage to try another line, to try his mother’s psychic hotline or the house phone.

“Ford? Can I ask you somethin’? When dad’s business went under… why’d you leave him and ma high and dry?” Stan’s voice was quiet. He knew that Ford hadn’t given them a cent if the pawn shop had gone under, he knew that Ford would be making big money thanks to his college degrees, that Ford could have helped where he’d failed.

Ford went quiet, leaning against the wall of the temple. “...I haven’t even seen them since my first semester of college. I visited for Hanukkah, one time, and then I just… never went back… Everything there reminded me too much of how you _weren’t_ there anymore.” He said. “They called… sometimes… but I didn’t go back home to visit. Eventually I stopped talking to them altogether. And I suppose now it'd be impossible to ever talk to them again.” Ford paused, giving a halfhearted attempt at pushing down the twisting, guilty feeling in his gut. “Sometimes I feel like I should have tried harder with them, that I should have convinced them to let you stay but… looking back… I-- Stan, I have a lot of regrets, but… and this is going to sound stupid and heartless, I’m sure of it, but… I’m glad you never went back to them-- back to dad. He was awful to you, to both of us. What kind of father-- kicks his son to the curb like that? I missed you, I wanted you back more than anything, I wanted everything to be _okay_ again, but… especially now, you couldn’t get me to put you anywhere near him, not even if I had the means to turn back the clock and prevent every awful thing that ever happened between us.”

Just like that, Stan’s world seemed to snap back into place. He leaned against the wall, next to Ford, slowly placing a hand on his shoulder. “...I can’t say I blame you for not wanting to go back. And I can’t say I blame you for what _they_ did. Not anymore, at least. You… you were just a kid, too. What dad did wasn’t your fault, and it wasn’t my fault. I should have realized that a long time ago.” Stan sighed. “And I should have realized that-- that never seeing me again _wasn’t_ what you wanted. Even if you were mad at me.”

“Of course not, I-- I didn’t know what to _do_.” Ford said, turning to face Stanley. “I was hurt, and angry at the idea that you would do something like that to me, but-- but losing you hurt so much _more_ than losing my shot at college. And I’d convinced myself later that dad had somehow made the right decision. But that’s bullshit, it was always bullshit. There’s not a day that goes by that I’m not reminded of how _awful_ dad really was, how awful _I_ was… because I look at Dipper and Mabel and every day, I think… _there’s nothing either of them could do to get me to… to do that to them._ ” Ford said. “I know I say it a lot, but… I’m sorry, about what happened. I truly am.”

“Ford… You don’t have to be sorry. You had every right to be mad.” Stan said, pulling Ford into a hug and squeezing him tight. “I promise, I don’t blame you for Dad’s bullshit parenting. We’re better than him, we’ll do those kids right… we have to. “

“Come here, Stan…” Ford said quietly, returning Stan’s hug. “You know… you’re already infinitely better than he ever was.”

“I try, really hard. I want those kids to grow up and be like their parents. Not like me.” Stan said, leaning into Ford.

“Stan… they’re already so much like you, and that’s not a bad thing.” Ford said. “You’re clever, you never give up, you… Stanley, you _care_ so much, you’ve saved their _lives_. You're a-- well, you're a hero, Stanley. More of a hero than I'll likely ever be…”

“Ford, are you kiddin’ me? You saved me _and_ the kids _and_ Fiddleford from that damn triangle, Dipper looks up to you every day, you’re more of a hero than you realize.” Stan said.

“I can’t tell you how many times I look at Dipper and see _you_ , Stan. You’re both determined, and caring, and strong. You fight _back_. _You_ worked every day for thirty _years_ to get me back… _You_ made sure I had something to _come back to_. You’re amazing, Stan. And thanks to _you_ … Dipper and Mabel are going to be amazing, too.” Ford said, holding Stan tight.

Stan could feel tears welling up behind his eyes, and he pulled away, sniffling. “That means a lot to me, Ford.” He broke the hug completely and did his best to compose himself. “E-Enough of the sappy stuff, let’s keep treasure hunting, huh? Maybe get somethin’ to eat soon?”

“Well… I think we’ve got enough artifacts for now. If we can’t carry any more… I think it’s time for me to start hunting down lunch.” Ford said. “Unless you still wanted me to open up that empty chamber?”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to… but it would be pretty damn cool.” Stan said.

“I-- Well…” Ford paused, clearing his throat and crossing to the other end of the room. “ _Agus is é an deireadh rún an ghaoth i físeanna_!” He chanted in a deep, booming voice. The engravings on the wall began to glow pink, as another door opened up in the wall, revealing an empty room. “How was that?”

Stan applauded, cheering, “Bravo!”

Ford blushed, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. “T-thank you.” He stammered. “Now, ready for lunch?” He said, pulling his crossbow from the messenger bag.

“Woah, you’re gonna get lunch with that? I don’t mind paying for lunch, you don’t have to go and--”

“I insist. I promised I’d hunt with you sometime, didn’t I?” Ford said. “Besides, I’ve gone hunting with far less than a crossbow and come back with a decent meal.” He said, leading Stan out of the temple. “It shouldn't take too long to find something. Did you have anything in mind? Fox, rabbit, jackelope? I might be able to find a deer if I search long enough.”

“I think you mean antelabbit.” Stan interjected.

“Uh… sure. Antelabbit. Do you have a preference?” Ford asked.

“Nah, whatever you manage to catch’ll work. As long as it's edible. I don't want any rocks in my lunch, thanks.” Stan said.

“Are you sure you don’t want to eat rocks?” Ford teased, waving one of the crystals in front of Stan’s face. “They're full of vitamins and _minerals._ ”

“I’m going to push you off of the bridge.” Stan deadpanned.

“Wh-what?” Ford stammered, putting some distance between him and Stan. “Sorry-- I'll… er… Stan, I was just horsing around.”

“So was I Ford, I’m not going to push you off of a bridge. Why the hell-- what would make you think that?” Stan asked, worry bubbling in his chest. _Oh god, he-- he thought I was serious because of the portal incident… didn't he?_ “Are you… Are you alright, poindexter?”

“I’m fine, Stan.” Ford said, stifling a yawn. “Sorry, I guess I just need another coffee. Let’s get out of here. Get something to eat.”

Stan frowned, more than a little apprehensive. “Alright… let’s go then.”

The two brothers left the temple, Ford leading the way and Stan carrying their treasure, silent as the doorways magically sealed behind them. “Alright, Stanley…” Ford said, once they’d returned to the snowy surface. “Did you want to…? Did you want to come hunting with me? Or are you alright staying here by yourself?”

“I didn’t bring any weapons or anything… I’ll stay here, look for firewood or something.” Stan said. “Besides, hunting is more… your and Fiddleford’s thing.”

“Alright, if you say so.” Ford said. “I’ll be back before you know it, just try to find some dry firewood. Pine works well, but I’ll need hickory in order to cook the meat.” He said, using the side of the cave entrance to put out the torch, and held it out to Stan. “Just… try to find wood that looks like that.”

“Got it. Do you want to meet up back here?” Stan asked.

“Here would work best. That way if either of us get lost we’ll know to head back here, and we’ll be able to find our way back to the Shack.” Ford said. “Well… I’ll be off, then?”

“Uh… yeah. I’ll see you when you get back? Good luck out there, don’t be afraid to come back empty handed, I don’t mind taking you out to eat again.”

“I appreciate the gesture,” Ford said, smirking. “But I haven’t had a failed hunting trip in nearly thirty years. I’ll see you in about an hour or two with lunch.” He said, walking off into the forest.

Stan couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach as he watched Ford disappear into the forest. _He’s done this a thousand times, it’s probably how he managed to survive thirty years on the other side. He knows what he’s doing. He’ll be fine. He has to be._ Stan sighed, leaning up against a tree, shivering from the cold and gripping Ford’s torch too tightly.  _Something’s wrong, though. I know he’s not the **best** at taking a joke, but back there? That was pushing it, even for Ford. Shit, do Ford’s alien uppers have side effects? _Stan thought to himself. _Fuck, if they do and he hasn’t told us, or really noticed… no. No, he’s fine. He's fine. Might just be tired. But he's been eating far worse than caffeine pills for the past thirty years._

Something in Stan’s heart sunk a little further as another thought wormed its way into his head.

_Gee, whose fault is that, huh?_

Ford took a deep, but quiet breath as he crawled through the underbrush on his belly. The crossbow was heavy in his hand, and the branches of the brambles scratched at his shoulders, snow falling from the leaves to his face. The caffeine pills had worn off, but through the sleepiness in his brain, he'd found his target: a lone fox pawing at the snow, likely hunting for its own meal. With a pull of the trigger, Ford could easily send the arrow straight towards the fox’s neck. The snow seeped through his threadbare coat, clinging to his sweater. Ford creeped forwards, just a little bit, readying the crossbow. Every muscle in Ford’s body relaxed for a split second, a calm, secure feeling washing over him, pushing past the sleep deprived haze in his brain.

He fired.

The fox was struck through the neck, blood spilling onto the snow with a final cry, and Ford lept up to claim his prize, not paying mind to the brambles above him, not noticing when his coat snagged on a thorn.

He heard the coat ripping before he registered it.

It was still hanging from his sleeves by the time he was halfway to where the fox had fallen. Ford came to a dead halt, one foot in the blood spatter the fox had left behind, when he felt one half of the ruined coat slide off his shoulder, falling into the snow, the contents of his pockets spilling out.  In that moment, whatever calm Ford had latched onto was gone, and exhaustion threatened to claim him then and there. He slowly knelt down to pick up the cloth-- _coat_ , it was still a coat, it just needed a little mending is all, and felt the threads of the fabric give a little at his touch. Without a seam to hold them all in place, the weft of the fabric was falling apart. As his other sleeve fell from his shoulder, Ford fell to his knees, panic clutching at his chest as he bundled what was left of the coat and his possessions as carefully as he could. _It’s okay, you still have it, you can fix it, or ask Stan to fix it, or get him to teach you how to fix it. Just grab the fox, keep the coat safe, and go back to Stan. Grab the fox, keep the coat safe, get to Stan. Grab the fox, keep yourself safe, get to Stan. Grab the fox, keep safe, get to camp._ Ford had lifted the fox by its tail, tucking the coat underneath the crook of his arm and wandering further into the forest, trying to focus. There weren’t any more caffeine pills, he’d have to stay awake until he got back to the basement. _Which way was it? Which way was Stan? No, Stan’s not here, find camp. You’re tired, you're exhausted, you need to eat something, keep up your strength or you’ll die in this dimension._ Ford yawned, leaning against a tree to rest his eyes for just a second. Something flickered on the edge of Ford’s vision, he thought he’d seen the fox move. _Find camp, eat something, find water, rest. Find camp, eat something, find water, rest. Camp, food, water, rest. Survive, survive, survive._ Ford’s head jerked as he nearly nodded off to sleep, ankle deep in the snow. _Which dimension was this? Try to remember, remember, remember. 83something. Dimension 83291. No, no, that’s not right, that dimension was warmer. Warm, like a desert, like coffee omelets like Stan’s car. No, the heater doesn’t work. Yes it does, you remember it working, Glass Shard Beach, nineteen sixty-something._ Ford pushed down the thought, sleep pushing at the edges of his brain, threatening exhaustion at any moment. _If you fall asleep now you won’t wake up again, stay alive, you’ve gotta get home, you’ve got to die trying to get home, trying to fix things. Not holed up in the wilderness. Camp, food, water, rest. Camp, food, water, rest._

Stan huffed, pulling his coat closer around him. Ford had been gone for nearly a half hour, and he was starting to worry. If he didn’t set out soon, Ford wouldn’t have any more tracks left to follow. “Ford? Can you hear me?” Stan called, walking in the general direction Ford had, not worried about scaring away potential game. It wasn’t long before Ford’s tracks led him through some brambles to the site of a struggle. A bad one. With liberal amounts of blood in the snow.

“ _FORD!_ ” Stan’s screams were growing more panicked now, despite the fact that on further inspection, Ford’s tracks continued off to the east, away from the clearing, dotted with a small trail of blood. Stan took off running. _I can’t do this, I can’t lose him again, what if he’s hurt, what if he’s lost alone in the woods with no food water or shelter, what if that weirdness theory of his is spot on and he-- Oh god what if he somehow slips through a portal again?_ “Ford, come on, answer me!” A surge of hope ran through Stan’s chest when he realized that he could smell smoke. _Wherever he is, he’s got a fire going._ He told himself, following his nose to the source of the smell.

Eventually, Stan came to a clearing in the woods, breathing a sigh of relief as he saw _Ford_ , alive and safe and huddled close to a fire, a dead fox roasting above it, its fur tossed aside in favor of the meat. “Jesus, Stanford, what happened? Don’t fucking scare me like that, you almost gave me a--” Stan stopped short when Ford lept to his feet, crossbow in hand and moving towards him. “A heart attack…”

“Who the fuck are you?” Ford growled. “Why do you look like St-- Why do you look like that? Are you a shapeshifter?!” Stan took a step backwards, the space between him and his brother was growing too small for his liking.

“Ford… Stanford, it’s me, it’s Stanley! What happened to you?” Stan couldn’t hide the panic in his voice.

“ _How the hell do you know about Stanley?!_ ” Ford was shouting and suddenly the space between them had closed, and Ford had tackled Stan to the ground again, _oh god I’m going to get burned again, he’s going to fall through the portal again._ “What are you, a shapeshifter? A demon? Answer me! Before I slit your--” Ford paused, his voice hitching. “B-Before I slit your throat!”

“Ford! I _am_ Stanley, I swear!” Stan shouted, trying to wrestle Ford off of him, to no avail.

“Liar! Stan’s not here, he’s safe and sound back home, the bastard!” Ford shouted, pressing the tip of the arrow against Stan’s-- _no, not Stan’s, this isn’t Stan, you’re not supposed to be mad at Stan something’s wrong_ \-- throat, not hard enough to break skin but hard enough to be threatening. “Leave me alone or I’ll roast _you_ over that fire instead!”

“No, it’s me, I’ll prove it!” Stan shouted. “You’re not in the portal anymore, you’ve gotta believe me Ford. I used to call you poindexter all the time, b-but if anyone else called you that I’d sock ‘em in the jaw!”

“Anyone in New Jersey could’ve figured that out!” Ford snarled. “Leave, or I’ll kill you!” _Survive, survive, survive, you’ve got to survive, you’ve got to get home, home to who? Fiddleford, a piece of Fiddleford, where is it? Gone, gone, gone, split down the middle just like you._

“U-uh… Ford, please, you gotta believe me! You’re in Gravity Falls! We live together, with Fiddleford and the k-kids!” Stan’s voice shook as he began to tear up. With a hefty grunt he, with monumental effort, shoved Ford off of him. “I used to call you by a different nickname all the time until you asked me to stop, you’ve gotta believe me!”

“Fiddleford and I don’t have any kids, _liar_! It’s biologically impossible for us to!” Ford screamed as he scrambled to his feet, crossbow in hand and rushing towards Stan.

“No, Ford! Wait!” Stan screamed as a light bulb went on in his head. He held up one hand, praying to anything that would listen that this would work.

Ford stopped, the whole world stopped, the crossbow fell to the ground with a _thud_.

Stan had one finger up each nostril, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I-it’s me.”

 _You think some evil monster is gonna go digging for gold?_ Stan’s words echoed in Ford’s mind until they were practically screaming in his head. “S-Stan?”

“Yeah, yeah, Stanford… It’s me. I promise.” Stan said, slowly lowering his hands and fighting to keep his voice even and calm.

“O-Oh god, I--” Ford spared the crossbow on the ground a quick glance, before rushing to Stan once again, wrapping his arms around him as tightly as he could, afraid to let go. “Oh god, St-Stan I’m so sorry, I d-didn’t mean to--”

Stan held Ford as tight as humanly possible, shaking in the snow. “I-It’s okay, you didn’t know… Ford, we need to get you home. We need to get you out of the cold. What the hell happened? Where’s your… Where’s your coat?”

Ford let out a defeated whimper, his limbs felt like lead and he could only barely comprehend what Stan was talking about anymore now that the rush of adrenaline had passed. “Y-You saved, me, Stan… You got me out of that _hellhole_ , y-you tore down the Berlin Wall, split right down the middle…” He mumbled. “I’m so sorry, I love you, Stan.”

“I love you too, Ford.” Stan said, struggling to breathe evenly. “C-can you stand up and walk? The Shack isn’t too far.” He glanced around Ford’s impromptu campsite, noticing Ford’s coat bundled up next to the fire. “Okay, just… just sit tight for a minute while I put out the fire and grab your coat. It’s fucking cold out here, why would you even--” Stan stopped short, sighing as he found he already knew the answer. Ford’s coat was destroyed, and Stan could tell by the weight of the fabric in his hands that trying to fix it at this point would only damage it further, there wasn’t a needle and thread delicate enough in the world to mend it. Sighing, Stan tucked the coat under his arm, burying the fire underneath some snow and not bothering to take the fox with him when he left, wrapping an arm around Ford to help him support his own weight. “...Ford, when was the last time you got some _sleep_?”

“H-Halloween, I think?” Ford said, his head stuffed in a hazy blur, the sensation making him panic. “No, no, it hasn’t been that long, I saved them on Tuesday… Three days? Probably? Oh god, I can’t remember, I-- Stan, I’m so sorry.”

 _No wonder he's so freaked out…_ “Ford, you need to get some sleep, _now_.” Stan said, taking Ford’s hand. “I’ll fix your coat at home while you sleep, I promise.” Stan said, unsure if he could really fix it, but more than willing to lie for Ford’s sake.

“Can’t sleep, not yet, have to find food and shelter, I’ve got to-- Where’s Fidds? Is he alright?” Ford squeezed his eyes shut, trying to quell the panic rising in his chest, trying to relieve the exhaustion clawing at his brain. “How are you _here?”_

“You have shelter and food, I promise, but I need you to follow me.” Stan tugged Ford by the hand and led him a few steps. “Fiddleford is safe, I promise. He’s with his son right now. We can call him when we get home, okay?”

Ford thought he’d said _No that’s not right, he’s gone, the coat’s not here, he’s not in the barrier, he’s gone I need to get him back_ , _it’s too much without him, everything is too **much**_ , but his sleep deprived brain had failed to actually get the words out of his mouth, instead tricking Ford into believing that he’d heard them. Ford stayed silent, his mouth not allowing him to speak, as Stan dragged him out of the forest. Stan was saying something, his voice cracking but calming, but Ford couldn’t muster up the ability to listen. He simply halfheartedly clung to Stan, dragging his feet as they trudged through the snow.

Ford didn’t notice when they reached the Shack, _empty room, empty house above it, couldn’t save anyone if you tried,_ and he didn’t notice when Stan sat Ford down on the couch. He didn’t notice when the air got warmer around him and he didn’t notice when Stan started pacing around the living room, talking on the phone with _someone_. Ford took a deep, shuddering breath, curling his knees up to his chest, _you’re in danger, you’re going to die, you have to get out of here but you’re too exhausted to do anything but hide. Just try to sleep, get some rest then leave._

“Tate? Tate, this is Stan Pines, Fiddleford’s with you, right?” Stan said into the phone, pacing around the living room and worriedly glancing over at Ford. “I need you to put him on, it’s important.”

“Yes, he’s here, is everything alright?” Tate asked.

“Uh… I don’t know.” Stan said. “Just put Fiddleford on, okay?” He waited for a long, agonizing minute while Tate handed Fiddleford the phone.

“... Okay. Stanley! What’s goin’ on, is everythin’ alright?” Fiddleford’s voice faded through the line, swelling as he moved the phone closer to his mouth.

“It’s Ford. Uh, while we were out, his coat got torn up and he hasn’t slept in three days and he’s panicking but he's not talking at all, and he’s never done that before, I don’t think, and I was wondering if that was something he started doing when he was-- when he was in college with you.” Stan said, the words tumbling out of his mouth faster than he could process them. “He needs to know you’re safe, he’s worried about you and I’m worried about him. I just-- I don’t know how to make him understand that it’s just the paranoia talkin’ nonsense.”

“Oh dear… Let me talk to him. I’ll figure s-somethin’ out.” Fiddleford stammered, trying not to cause a scene in the restaurant.

“I don’t even know if he knows I’m in the room, Fidds… I don’t wanna scare you but this one’s really bad, about as bad as the Synagogue, and he’s so _tired_. I… Remember how I told you he gets super nostalgic? He’s-- He’s had that coat for thirty years, he was wearin’ it when he fell through, he-- That thing is old and ratty and after thirty years of hell itself I’m surprised it lasted this long but-- Fidds, he’s really worked up about losing it.”

Fiddleford was silent for a few seconds, a few seconds too long for Stan’s worried and breaking heart, until he finally spoke, “I’m on my way home right now.” Fiddleford said in a concerned, shaky voice.

“Thanks. Thank you, Fiddleford.” Stan breathed a sigh of relief. _God, I don’t know what to do, I’m supposed to know what to **do** for things like this_.

Fiddleford hung up the phone as soon as Stan finished speaking, turning to Tate and Jill. “Ford needs my help with an experiment, I need you to drive me back home as quickly as possible. Please.”

Stan carefully placed the phone back on the receiver, before slowly approaching Ford. “Stanford? That was Fiddleford, he’s on his way.” No response, nothing, and Stan didn’t know if that meant that Ford was calming down or had reached a new plateau of panic. “Look, I’m sorry about your coat. You’re strong enough to get by without it, I swear.” Stan reached out to wrap an arm around Ford’s shoulders, “But that doesn’t mean I won’t do everything I can to fix it.”

Ford finally, _finally_ seemed to spark back to life, flinching at Stan’s touch at first before clutching his shoulders. “Stan, please, p-please, I’m sorry, I k-know it’s a lot to ask, but you’ve g-g-got to-- I’m sorry, if you could fix it, I’d… You’ve gotta fix it, just one more time, I s-swear. I-I’m so sorry Stan.”

“Don’t be sorry, Ford, I don’t mind fixing it, I would fix it a hundred times if I had to, if that was what you wanted.” Stan said. “ _I’m_ sorry, just… Ford you need to tell me what I can do to help you through this. Fiddleford’s on his way, he’s safe, I swear.”

Ford was silent, it was like Stan’s voice had a thousand different undertones that Ford couldn’t quite make out, _It’s the sleep deprivation, you’re not relapsing, you’re fine, just calm the fuck down_. _You need rest._ He didn’t move his hands from Stan’s shoulders, even while the fabric of Stan’s jacket felt like steel wool beneath his skin. _You promised him you wouldn’t get this bad again, you’re supposed to be there for **him** not the other way around. You’re the older twin, damnit, Stan needs you and all you’re doing is making things worse. _

It was an agonizing fifteen minutes before Fiddleford made it to the Shack.

“Stanford?! Ford, are you in here?” Fiddleford called, fighting the urge to run to Ford as fast as possible, fighting to hide the worry in his voice.

“We’re in the living room, Fiddleford.” Stan called, his voice cracking.

Ford lept to his feet, finally breaking contact with Stan and wobbling a bit as sleep tried to claim him right then and there. _Calm down, calm down, Fiddleford is right there, across the hall, he’s coming, he’s safe, he’s going to leave you over this but he’s safe_. He hastily tugged at his sweater, dusting off any remnants of snow that still clung to the thread, and tried to fix his hair, fear and paranoia clutching at his chest as he clutched at his scalp, at the stitches that _were still healing, you’re going to scare him, you’re dangerous and deadly._

Fiddleford rushed to Ford, wrapping him in a warm embrace, gently stroking his hair. “Stanford, I’m here. It’s okay, I’m okay, _you’re_ okay.” Fiddleford whispered, Ford’s damp sweater soaking Fiddleford’s shirt.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, your suit, your nice suit--” Ford’s breath hitched. “I-- I’m sorry, t-the coat, it’s gone and I-I’m acting like a goddamned-- like a goddamned _child_ over losing it when you’re right in f-front of me, I’m so-- Fidds, I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, shhh, Ford, breathe.” Fiddleford pulled back to look Ford in the eyes, placing a familiar hand on his cheek. “You haven’t slept in _days_ , you’re upset. I’m not going to let anything happen to you… but you _have_ to get rest. I’ll watch the whole time, I’ll hold you, I promise.”

 _No, no, no, it’s all wrong I’m supposed to be the one looking out for you not the other way around._ Ford wasn’t sure if he said it out loud or not. “I can’t, not yet, I-- Nothing’s right anymore, Fidds. I have to fix it.”

“Stanford. The only way to fix this is to _rest._ You know well enough that the brain needs sleep to function properly. You need to trust me when I say that nothin’ bad is gonna happen to you.” Fiddleford pleaded.

“I-- I know that, I _know_ , I just--” Ford was practically gasping for breath. “It’s waiting for me, Fiddleford, it-- it’s all waiting for me the second I go under. It-- It’s too much, I need the _coat,_ I feel r-ridiculous.”

Fiddleford paused a second, and pulled away to pull off his suit jacket. “You can use mine while Stanley fixes yours. It’ll be ready when you wake up, I promise.”

Ford took one look at the suit jacket in Fiddleford’s hands, one look at the look on Stan’s face when Fiddleford said the words _I promise_ , and fell to his knees. “...You can’t fix it, can you, Stan?”

“I-I don’t know yet, Ford. I’m gonna try.” Stan said. “The coat’s old, the fabric’s been through hell and back, but I’m going to try.”

Ford opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by the sound of the door unlocking. “They’re back from school, I h-have to _hide_ I can’t s-scare them like this.”

“You can go hide in my room, get some sleep, I’ll come find you when the coat’s ready, okay?” Stan said, taking Ford's hand and guiding him towards his room.

Dipper and Mabel walked through the door, tracking snow into the house and stopping when they saw Fiddleford walk up to them.

“Hi, Grunkle Fiddleford!” Mabel said, smiling. “Where’s Grunkle Ford?”

“He’s, uh, well… kids, he’s just havin’ a panic attack, and he’d like to be alone right now. So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bother ‘im until he’s calmed down.”

“Oh no, what happened?” Dipper asked, concerned. “Where is he?”

“It’s nothin’ to worry about, his coat just got destroyed--”

“What?! Grunkle Fiddleford, you _know_ he loves that coat, of course he’s upset! Where is it, I can probably fix it!” Mabel said, running off further into the house.

“He’s gonna be okay, right?” Dipper asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine, Dipper.” Fiddleford said. “Just get started on your homework, okay?”

Dipper nodded, walking into the kitchen and pulling out a few notebooks, as well as his smartphone. _Ford loved that coat, there has to be a way I can help him. What would mom do? Wait… didn’t mom do some consulting work for a psychology textbook once? What was the title again?_ Dipper thought, typing ‘Alexandria Pines’ into the search bar, his heart leaping when he found a psychology book was one of the first results. Dipper used the last money he had from bar mitzvah gift cards to purchase it, scrolling through the pages until he found what he needed. He bookmarked the page, rushing back into the gift shop and hastily typing in the code for the vending machine, running down the steps two at a time.

The ride to the third floor was short. Dipper tapped his foot impatiently against the floor, and shot out of the elevator the second the doors opened, opening every drawer in the basement that wasn’t locked, looking for some of Ford’s notes.

“Uh… hey, kid… Dipper, right?” Riley asked, her form still trapped in the mirror. “What are you looking for?”

“Did you see where my uncle keeps his research notes? He’s got to keep a record of them somewhere.” Dipper said, too busy focusing on thumbing through the stack of papers in his hand to be mad at Riley. “What language are these even in?”

“Uh, not sure, I think the best I can do is check some of those locked drawers.” Riley said, shrugging.

“That’s right, you’re intangible!” Dipper said, grabbing a stool so he could reach Riley’s dice, which Ford had placed on a high shelf. “I’m looking for the notes he has about the multiverse, see if you can find any that are in English.” He said, waving the dice in front of the mirror so Riley could escape. “And if you _try_ anything, I’ll exorcise you myself.” He glared at the ghost in front of him, anger seething in his chest.

“Okay, multiverse notes, got it.” Riley said, phasing through a few of the drawers that Dipper had been unable to open. “And I won’t try anything, I told you, I’m not here to haunt you or anything, just to make up for what I did. Oh, are these it? Do you have anything to pick the lock?” Riley said, poking her head out of a locked drawer. “I can probably try to use some sort of spooky ghost thing to unlock it but I’m not sure if--”

“The President’s Key!” Dipper shouted, reaching into his pocket. “Why didn't I just use that?”

“The what?”

“It’s a skeleton key that can open any lock in America! I haven’t gotten the chance to try it in a while, though.” Dipper said, grabbing the dice and pulling Riley out of the way so he could unlock the drawer.

“Woah! ...That’s a thing?” Riley asked as Dipper jerked her around.

“Oddly enough, the fact that the eighth and a half president of the United States is alive and apparently has access to magic keys is not the _weirdest_ political thing that’s ever happened in this town.” Dipper said.

“What… What could be weirder than that?”

“Two words: Birdly kiss.” Dipper deadpanned, thumbing through Ford’s notes. They weren’t entirely in English, and some of the pages weren’t even made of paper.  Thankfully, right underneath a stack was a few pages that Ford had transcribed in English. It seemed that Ford was trying to organize the hastily scribbled notes he’d managed to take on the other side of the portal into a scientific paper, and that was just what Dipper needed. “Okay, um, now get back into the mirror.” Dipper said, picking up the dice and shoving Riley into the mirror, hiding the dice out of her view and rushing back upstairs, thumbing through Ford’s notes.

“Okay, um… good talk? I guess.” Riley trailed off, curling up in the mirror. “Damn, never thought I’d actually be waiting for a science guy to get back with spooky ghost shit to come talk to me.” She said to herself, once Dipper had left the room.

Dipper snuck through the house, he knew that if Stan or Fiddleford caught him they’d just tell him that everything was fine, that Ford was fine and not to worry, when Dipper knew that this wasn’t the case. He hated being lied to. _Ford needs that coat, and I know **why** , I just need to get Ford to listen to me. _Slowly, he opened up the door to Stan’s room, having worked out that this was the only place in the house where Ford could be alone now that his own room was under construction. “Great-- Grunkle Ford? You in here?”

Ford had been pacing, too worked up to sleep despite the exhaustion that threatened to claim him any minute, but came to a halt when Dipper opened up the door, forcing down his panic. “Dipper! H-Hello, sorry, I’m just a little worked up right now, it’ll pass. Did… Did you need anything?” He said, forcing himself to stay awake, making an effort to look like he wasn’t tired.

“Yeah. I’ve got a hypothesis I need you to look at.” Dipper said, keeping his voice calm and even, just like his mother’s had been. He took Ford by the hand and sat down on the edge of Stan’s bed.

“Alright, I can take a minute, what’s going on?” Ford said, taking deep breaths, forcing himself to try and calm down, for Dipper’s sake. The last thing he wanted to do was drag Dipper or Mabel into his state of panic, to scare them or hurt them in any way.

“Your coat is like Mabel with Sweater Town.” Dipper started, pulling out his phone and scrolling to the bookmarked page. “You were using it as a coping mechanism, and when it got destroyed before you were ready, you got upset. That happens sometimes, look.” He placed the phone in Ford’s hands. “My mom wrote that, and you trust her word, right? It’s not… It’s not stupid of you to miss it. And-- And I think I know why you need it!” Dipper said, pulling out Ford’s notes.

“Dipper? Are those my notes from the basement?” Ford asked. “You didn’t… you didn’t read them, did you?”

“Just a little bit, most of these aren’t in English.” Dipper said. “Sorry I broke into your desk, the drawer was locked but… But look at what you’ve been through! Cursed doors, alien prisons, uh… whatever this paragraph says.” Dipper said, pointing to a paragraph in an otherworldly language. “And freezing tundras and all kinds of otherworldly weather phenomena-- You’ve even lived on a toroidal planet! Your coat has been with you through each and every one of these crazy places, and it gets you out of tough situations. It makes sense for you to be attached to it, it’s probably saved your life.”

“Dipper… you don’t have to be the one to help me, I’ll be fine, really.” Ford said. “I appreciate you trying to help but--”

“But I’m too young?” Dipper said. “Grunkle Ford, it’s okay, really. You helped me when I was panicking about Bill, and after we fought the Duskertons. We just want you to be--” Dipper stopped short when Ford had slumped over against the bed, finally, _finally_ asleep. “...We just want you to be okay.” Dipper didn’t dare move, he didn’t want to risk waking up Ford. He needed his sleep, Dipper knew, and waking Ford up was considered a sin in the Pines household. Carefully, Dipper laid down on the bed next to his uncle, making himself comfortable. Leaving Ford to rest alone was out of the question, Dipper wanted to make sure that Ford would still be okay when he woke up, and he couldn't do that if he was back on the other side of the house working on his homework.

Slowly, Dipper curled up next to his uncle, hoping to at least catch up on some sleep while waiting for Ford to wake up. He knew that his uncle wasn’t okay, that being on the other side of the portal had hurt Ford in ways he may never truly understand. Heck, being in Gravity Falls had hurt Ford in ways that Dipper didn’t always want to think about.

He’d poured over the journal once he’d found out about the invisible ink.

Some of the invisible entries were helpful, some contained hidden clues about the author’s identity.

A lot of them gave Dipper more clues to what was going on in the author’s head than he cared to admit. He hadn’t known that the author was his uncle, but… the invisible entries made Dipper’s quest to find the author all the more urgent, and they gave Dipper more of clues about who the author really was than anything else. By the eerie, purplish glow of a blacklight, the author of the journals had become less of an unreachable figure and more of, well, a person. Scared and hurt, trying to make sense of a world that had turned upside down. Dipper curled closer to his uncle, recalling the words _“can’t sleep”_ scrawled on one of the first pages in the journal, over and over. With the addition of the blacklight, it seemed that the author seemed to second guess and contradict himself far more than the original text had let on, with large blocks of texts scribbled out and large, damning _“wrong”s_ commandeering the pages. Upon reading _those_ hidden paragraphs, it had become clear to Dipper that wherever the author of the journals was, he was in danger, though from what he hadn’t found out until it was too late.

Mabel huffed, snipping a thread with a pair of safety scissors, trying not to damage the fabric of Ford’s coat any more than it already was. “Stupid fabric, stop falling apart!” She commanded, even as the threads of the fabric unraveled in her hands. “Grunkle Ford needs you, you’ve gotta keep going!”

“Mabel, I don’t think the coat can hear you. And I don’t think we’ll be able to fix it.” Stan said.

“Grunkle Stan, Grunkle Ford _needs_ his coat! What are we gonna do with a bunch of soggy scraps?!” Mabel laid her head down on the table in frustration.

“Pumpkin, I know it looks bad, I know Ford’s been using that coat to cope with things, but…The fabric’s old, it’s falling apart in our hands. The best we can do right now is help Ford remember how to get by without it. What Ford really needs right now is _sleep_.” Stan said, taking a seat on the living room floor, next to Mabel. “He’ll be fine after a good night’s rest.”

“Grunkle Stan, _Fiddleford_ gave him this coat, he kept it because they _love_ each other, that’s why he’s so obsessed with wearing it all the time!” Mabel said. “We _have_ to fix it! Maybe we can buy him a new one that looks exactly like it, dirty it up a little bit? Maybe he wouldn’t notice.”

“I think if we did that, it’d just make things worse.” Stan said. “Look, Mabel… Ford’s gonna get through this. In the morning, once he’s had a good night’s rest, he’s probably going to bounce right back.” Stan wrapped an arm around Mabel’s shoulders. “But purposely gettin’ him attached to something else like that… Probably not the best idea.”

Mabel stared at the fabric in her hands, the coat had transformed into small strips of sad, damp twill and cotton. Like a flash of lightning, an idea popped into her head. She began to cut the other scraps into long thin strips, grinning. “I’ve got a perfect idea!”

“Okay? Mind… Mind tellin’ me what it is?” Stan asked, grabbing a pair of scissors

“Start making long skinny pieces like this! Like spaghetti! I’m gonna wind it into a ball, like yarn, I think I have enough to make Grunkle Ford a scarf. It won’t be the same… but it’s still his coat! This way, it’s still there if he needs it, but if he doesn’t want it he can get rid of it on his own terms!” She said, smiling to herself. “It’s going to be okay, I know it. Grunkle Ford can get through this, with us to help out.”

“Kid, I think this is your best idea yet.” Stan said, grabbing a piece of Ford’s coat and cutting it into strips.

Ford managed to toss and turn for a few hours, Dipper napping soundly beside him, before Ford snapped awake in a panic, the clutches of a nightmare still trying to claw its way into his brain. He practically leapt from Stan's bed, quickly realizing that his coat was missing, losing it wasn’t part of his nightmares. He pressed his back against the wall, taking deep breaths, trying to remember what had happened before he'd fallen asleep.

“Dipper? Are you awake?” He asked, quietly, not wanting to wake the boy if he was asleep. Slowly, Dipper stirred, rubbing his eyes and sitting up.

“I am now. Are you-- are you alright?” Dipper asked, rushing to the other side of the room and giving Ford a hug, suddenly wide awake.

“Sorry, I think I fell asleep in the middle of our conversation.” Ford said, stifling a yawn. “Truth be told, I’m still a l-little tired. You…” Ford sighed. “You didn’t have to stay, you know.”

Dipper held onto Ford and looked up, wearing a genuine smile. “I don’t mind. Have you eaten anything? A full stomach might help you sleep.” Dipper said.

“I don’t think I had lunch, but… it might be getting too close to dinner to have a snack.” Ford said, kneeling down to Dipper’s level. “...Thank you. For what you did.”

“Is it ‘cause of Bill?” Dipper asked, fidgeting with his shirt. “Did you not sleep because of Bill, is that why you were so tired?”

“It wasn’t Bill, this time.” Ford said, wrapping Dipper in another hug. “He didn’t come back, we’re safe, _you’re safe_. It was… It was just me. I swear, you’re never going to be hurt by him again, he won’t even get the chance to come anywhere _near_ you.”

“It’s _you_ I’m worried about. I just want you to be alright, Grunkle Ford.” Dipper said with sincerity in his eyes. “I-- I read your journals, Grunkle Ford. I read the entries in invisible ink, heck, the entry on Bill is splattered with b-blood. I _know_ you aren’t okay because of what Bill did. B-Because _I’m_ not okay after what he did.” Dipper paused, leaning back into Ford. “It’s okay to not be okay… T-That’s what you always told me, anyways.”

“Dipper…” Ford’s voice was quiet, the wheels in his brain turning a mile a minute, working out an answer that would satisfy Dipper without dumping all his problems on this child. “You’re right, as usual… I’m not okay.” He said, sighing. “Bill used to be my best friend, when I found out about his trick-- I felt like I couldn’t trust anyone after that. And on the other side of the portal… well, let’s just say that the laws of physics aren’t always the same from universe to universe. Just being in some worlds was enough to--” Ford shook his head, holding Dipper close. “Did… you ever wonder what would happen if time didn’t exist?”

“No?” Dipper said.

“It’s the strangest feeling I’ve ever experienced.” Ford said, sitting down on the floor. “Everything felt… out of sync, I think I actually got _younger_ in that universe instead of older.”

“That sounds… kind of terrifying, actually.” Dipper said, curling up in Ford’s lap.

“It was.” Ford said. “Sometimes I have trouble remembering where in the timeline I’m at, I suppose I just never got back in the swing of things.”

“I-if you ever need help, I can help you. I can tell you what time it is, the date, the month, whatever you need.” Dipper said.

“It’s not that bad, but thank you, Dipper.” Ford said. “Usually when it happens I just need to remind myself that you and your sister are here, that generally fixes it.”

“Really?” Dipper said, standing up. “I-- I’ve got an idea, I think Mabel has something in our room that will help with that.” He said, grabbing Ford’s hand and leading him out of Stan’s room, up the stairs and into the attic.

“Dipper, really, it’s alright, you don’t have to worry about me.” Ford said, following Dipper. “It’s my job to worry about you, not the other way around.”

Dipper rummaged through a shoe box on Mabel’s side of the tiny room, pulling out old photographs until he found the one he was looking for. He handed the picture to Ford, a picture of the whole family at Dipper and Mabel’s mitzvah party. “There, now you’ll always know when you are!” Dipper said, a tiny smile on his face and a hint of sadness in his eyes.

“I think you mean ‘when’ I am-- oh wait you _did_ say that. Never mind.” Ford said, gently holding the photograph in his hands. “I-- Dipper, this is a picture of your parents. I appreciate the gesture, but I couldn’t possibly bring myself to take it.” He said, holding the photo out to Dipper.

“It’s okay, Grunkle Ford. I know Mabel made a few copies of that one… and we have a bunch more of them. You deserve to remember them too.” Dipper said, gently pushing the photo back towards Ford. “If you want to, that is.”

“Dipper… I can’t tell you how much I miss them, or how much this means to me.” Ford said, quietly. “Thank you. I’ll cherish it forever.”

Dipper latched onto Ford for another hug. “You’re welcome. You need it as much as Mabel and I do.” He said.

“Ford? Dipper?” Stan's voice carried through the hallway as he walked up the stairs, a plate of macaroni and cheese in one hand, a note and a mug of tea in the other. “You up here? Dinner’s ready.”

“Yeah, we’re up here, Grunkle Stan!” Dipper called, opening the attic door to let Stan in.

“Dipper, listen, Ford needs some sleep. If he wants to be alone, then--” Stan started, but was cut off by Ford.

“It’s alright, Stanley. I actually just got a few hours of sleep, thanks to Dipper.” Ford said, putting a hand on Dipper’s shoulder.  “You go on ahead, Dipper. I-I think I’ll eat by myself tonight.” He said.

“I, uh, thought you might say that. So we made you a plate.” Stan said, holding out the plate. “Mabel added the note, and Fiddleford made you some tea.”

Ford went to tuck the photograph in his coat pocket, before remembering that it wasn’t there anymore, and stuffed it in his pants pocket instead. “Thanks…” He said, quietly as he grabbed the plate from Stanley. “I’ll... I’ll just take this down in my study.”

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come down and eat with us?” Dipper asked.

“I’m sure, Dipper.” Ford said. “I’ll be fine.”

“Get some _sleep,_ Ford.” Stanley said, giving Ford a soft, reassuring smile. “I’ll be down there to grab your plate in about an hour. You better not be awake when that happens, okay?”

Dipper led Ford out of the attic. “If you aren’t asleep, we’ll make you come upstairs and sleep in an actual bed. It must be awful sleeping on that air mattress all the time.” Dipper said.

“I’m fine, Dipper. Really.” Ford said with a soft chuckle. “But thank you for your concern.”

Ford parted ways with Dipper and Stan at the vending machine, watching Dipper give a tiny wave as the vending machine slid closed behind him. Ford awkwardly returned the wave, being careful not to spill the food, and turned to the elevator, heading down to the study. Ford sighed, placing the food on his desk, taking out Mabel’s note and reading it.

_Dear Grunkle Ford, The bad news is, we can’t make your coat the way it was again. But the good news is, I’m not giving up! Your coat may not look like a coat when I’m done with it, but you’ll still have it. And no matter what, you’ll have me and Dipper and Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Fidds too. Get some sleep, we love you. Sweet Dreams! -Mabel._

Ford smiled at the letter, before taking a sip of Fiddleford’s tea. _Chamomile,_ he noted, _with… honey. He remembers my favorite. I… they all really care about me._

_They shouldn’t do that._

“Alright, I was right.” Stan said, walking with Dipper into the kitchen. “Ford’s eating in the basement. So… I guess we have a family meeting about what to do next?”

“Yeah… I’m really worried, Grunkle Stan. Do you think he’s gonna make it past this?” Dipper asked.

“What kind of a question is that? Of course he will.” Stan said. “Look, I know it was important to Ford, but it was just a coat. He made it through the portal, he can make it through losing a coat. Listen, would you be doubting he’d make it past this when you didn’t know he was Ford? Back when he was just ‘the author of the journals’?” Stan said. “I know my brother, he’ll be fine. He’s just overreacting and needs us to remind him what’s what.”

At the dinner table, Mabel was knitting furiously, an odd ball of tan and tweed yarn sitting where her dinner plate should have been. Fiddleford set a plate of food in front of her, which she politely pushed away. “I’m almost done, Grunkle Fidds, I need a little more time.”

“Alright, darlin’.” Fiddleford said. “...I think it’s real swell of you to knit Ford’s old coat into a scarf.”

“I tired making it a coat again, but it wouldn’t work… I’m sorry I have to tear it up even more.” Mabel said.

“It’s okay, Mabel. I’m sure he’ll love it.” Fiddleford said, taking a seat next to her.

Dipper joined them at the table, pulling his journal from his vest and clicking a pen. “Okay, so Mabel is making Ford’s coat into a scarf, which is good. But I think that what’s going on with Grunkle Ford is a lot more than just losing the coat.” He said, drawing a quick doodle of Ford in his coat. “So we need to figure out what exactly Ford was using it for, and replicate it.”

“Dipper, Grunkle Ford’s upset because his coat was a symbol of his and Grunkle Fiddleford’s _love_.” Mabel said, looking up from her knitting. “It’s like that time dad lost his wedding ring at work. Remember how upset he was?”

“Dad was upset, but not full-on-panic-attack upset.” Dipper said. “That coat saved his life before, I read his notes on the multiverse. And ever notice how he likes holding the collar, right before he gets a panic attack?” He said, writing furiously in his journal.

Fiddleford sighed. “Kids, you’re both right. He’s had that thing for so long, he’s forgotten what it’s like to be without it.” He said. “...I feel terribibl-- terrible, this is at least partially my fault.”

“Grunkle Fidds, you didn’t know he’d get so attached to that coat, you were just doing something from the heart.” Mabel patted Fiddleford’s shoulder. “Maybe he needs something else that can help him when he’s panicking. Something he can fidget with. I dunno if he’ll like the scarf… it looks kind of weird.” Mabel said, holding up the scarf. It was knitted expertly, but the fact that she’d used scraps of Ford’s coat was more than enough make it look awful, like a fraying, smelly lump of old ramen.

“I’m sure he’ll love your idea Mabel, you’re so creative…” Fiddleford sighed. “But you are right, I’m not sure a scarf would help with the panicking.

“Why don’t you make him something, Fiddleford?” Dipper chimed in.

“Yeah, you’re good at machines and stuff.” Stan said. “You could make him a pen that doesn’t make noise when you click it, or a hugging robot, or something.”

“I… was thinking more like one of those rings that you can spin.” Dipper said. “What… would Ford do with a hugging robot?”

“Slap a picture of Fiddleford’s face on it.” Stan said.

Fiddleford cracked a smile, allowing himself to laugh. “I’ll have to think about the hugging robit. Dipper, what did you mean, a ring that can spin?”

Dipper pulled out his phone, doing a quick image search. “Like this.” He said, holding out the phone. “It’s like a ring that’s got moving parts, so you’ve got something to do with your hands. My friend Jason had one. Do you think you could make something like that?”

Fiddleford took the phone from Dipper’s hands and adjusted his glasses. “I reckon I could figure somethin’ like that out… Do you mind if I borrow this?”

“Sure.” Dipper said. “Go right ahead.”

Fiddleford got up from the table, studying the image on Dipper’s phone intently.

“Just… make sure you tell him that it’s not a proposal when you give him the ring.” Stan said. “We’re talking about the guy who asked me, just this afternoon, if video games were supposed to be alive.”

Fiddleford mumbled something in response, not really paying attention, the gears in his head churning.

“Should we get Ford a new coat?” Mabel asked. “It’s pretty cold out there, and I don’t think he has another one. We could give him a _makeover_!”

Stan sat at the table with the kids, shaking his head. “Last time I tried to buy him clothes, it was like pulling teeth.” He said. “But… maybe if we surprise him with a coat at Hanukkah it’ll go a bit better than taking him to a store.”

“That’s the spirit!” Mabel cheered.

“So, we’re doing Hanukkah this year?” Dipper asked, setting down his pen.

“Of course, kiddo.” Stan said, smiling and ruffling Dipper’s hair. “...If you want to celebrate it, that is.”

“I do, actually… Dad loved Hanukkah.” Dipper smiled. “He loved telling the story of Hanukkah every year.”

“I can make mom’s latkes, I know the recipe by heart.” Mabel chimed in, “I can even make the applesauce from scratch!”

“Ford’ll definitely want to help you with those.” Stan said. “I swear, latkes are probably the only thing he knows how to cook, I bet he still knows how to make ‘em.”

“Really? Do you think he’ll do Hanukkah with us? I remember he didn’t really like being at temple…” Dipper said.

“That was cause of-- er, something different.” Stan said. “Just the crowd, that synagogue was _huge_. It's, uh, hard to explain.”

“If Ford’s anything like how he was in college, he’d _love_ to do Hanukkah again.” Fiddleford said. “And Stan’s right, Ford’s latkes are fantastic.”

“Yay! Hanukkah is on! Grunkle Stan, you have a menorah, right? The one we had in San Francisco was really pretty.” Mabel asked.

“I’m sure there’s one lying around here somewhere, sweetheart.” Stan said, scratching the back of his head.

Mabel latched onto Stan, hugging him around the middle. “I’m so excited! I’ll have to make everyone Hanukkah presents, I’ll have to start planning!”

“Alright, but first: dinner.” Stan said, returning Mabel’s hug.

Mabel pulled away and set aside her knit job, pulling her plate closer to start eating. “Maybe Grunkle Ford will have gotten Mom and Dad back by then…” She said quietly, a tiny smile on her face.

Stan’s face fell and he stayed silent, not wanting to bring Mabel down. He _wanted_ to have faith in Ford, to believe that he could really reverse death itself. He _knew_ that Ford wouldn’t have allowed the ghost downstairs to stay if he didn’t think there was at least a _chance_ that he could bring Sherman and Alexandria back. And yet, Stan couldn’t bring himself to get his hopes up like Mabel and Dipper seemed to. He had hoped Stanford was alive for decades, he’d held onto it until he couldn’t hope anymore. He had just enough to get him through thirty years of heartbreak, and now it seemed he’d been disappointed enough in his life to know better than to hope for too long.

Dinner, for the most part, went smoothly, though Ford’s absence let a notable silence linger where a hearty laugh or an anecdote about a monster hunt would have normally been. After the kids finished dinner and washed their dishes, Stan left the kitchen to check on Ford, fully expecting to find his brother asleep in his study.

Ford was pacing back and forth in his study, pulling at the sleeves of his sweater. _This is bad, this is awful. I could’ve severely injured Stanley today-- or worse, I could have killed him in a blind panic, I can’t be around them anymore, it’s too dangerous! But it’s clear now that they-- they actually want me around, can I really put them through losing another family member? Even if it’s for their own good?_

_They don’t realize how toxic I am. I don’t know how to make them realize that it’s better for everyone if I just **leave**. I can’t hurt them, I don’t **want** to hurt them, but if things keep going the way they’re going I might not have a choice._

_I’m-- Oh god, I’m losing my mind all over again. This is just like what happened thirty years ago, I pushed everyone away and now I’m drowning in my own lunacy. What if-- what if one day I wake up and find that none of it was real? That I’m still stuck in that first godawful dimension that time itself doesn’t exist anymore?_

Ford could feel the panic clutching at his throat as the world seemed to shrink in on itself. Nothing seemed real, it felt like time had no meaning anymore. He reached up to grab the collar of his coat, to ground himself as he’d done time and time again, only to grasp at air. _Christ, I can’t even remember that the damn coat is gone now_. Ford thought, before pausing, gently reaching a hand into his pants pocket and taking out the photograph Dipper had given him. He sighed, taking a seat at his desk, cluttered with old papers and the night’s empty dishes. _What am I thinking? I can’t leave them, I can’t do that to them. I can’t do that to **myself**. _ He thought to himself, cracking a smile despite the flood of embarrassment that had taken over now that the panic had subsided.

Ford leaned back in his chair, staring at the picture of his family, when he heard the elevator reach the second floor of the basement. He didn't bother looking up when Stan quietly entered the room.

“Ford, what are you doing up?” Stan asked, folding his arms. “You've had maybe two hours of sleep in three days, you can't keep doing this to yourself.”

“I'm fine, Stanley.” Ford said, pocketing the photograph. “Thanks for dinner.” He said, gesturing to his empty plate.

“Ford, listen…” Stan said. “In a few days, whenever you're ready, we're taking you back to the doctor and getting him to adjust your dosage. Whatever he’s got you on isn’t enough for you.”

Ford picked up the dishes, heading out of the study. “I suppose that's fair enough, considering what… happened earlier this afternoon. Stan, I'm so sorry, I _honestly_ didn't think it was really you, I don't know what came over me, I--’

“Ford, what happened was you didn't sleep for three days. You're gonna be fine, hell, you're doing better now even after just two hours of sleep.” Stan said. “Just… promise me you'll try to get eight hours of sleep a night from now on, okay? You have to take care of yourself.”

“I-- I’ll do my best, Stanley. Maybe we should get to the doctor as soon as possible… I don’t want to do that in front of the family again.” Ford said as the elevator slowly ascended, taking them to the gift shop.

“...You wanna talk about it?” Stan asked.

“What? No, Stanley. It's fine, you don't have to burden yourself with my problems.”

“It’s no burden, Ford. You’re family.” Stan said. “You can talk to me. Look, I know that what's going on is a lot more than just losing the coat. If you tell me, then I can help. You gotta open up sometime, keeping everything to yourself ain't healthy.”

“...Every time I try to open up, you always say I'm getting too sappy.” Ford said, slowly. “It's fine, I'll be fine.”

Stan was taken aback. “Ford… I don't say that to get you to shut up. I say that ‘cause I don't wanna talk about _my_ stuff…” Stan said, quietly. He hadn't considered that he might be inadvertently shutting Ford out whenever he deflected the conversation away from sensitive topics, he hadn't considered that Ford might have been trying to open up to him all along. He hadn't considered that… that maybe he didn't know Ford's cues as well as he thought he did. “I… _I_ didn’t want to burden _you_.”

Ford quietly walked over to one corner of the gift shop, placing the dirty dishes on the register counter and taking a seat on the floor, motioning for Stan to do the same. “...I'll talk about it if you will?” He said, meekly.

Stan paused, then took a seat next to Ford. “...So do you wanna go first or should I start?”

“I think you've been holding back a lot more than I have.” Ford said. “...When Bill was in your mindscape… what happened before I showed up? You-- you were pretty upset.”

Stanley sighed, wanting to respond with a _somehow I doubt that you’ve got less to deal with than me_ but remaining silent, his head in his hands, recognizing that commenting would only get them into an argument and, frankly, _needing_ to talk about that particular subject. “It was like re-living every mistake I ever made. Ever since I was a kid. All of my life, I’ve made huge mistakes. Bill knew every one of them, replayed every one of them.”

“...He does that.” Ford said. “Whatever he said about you, none of it was true. I can promise you that.”

“It was, Ford. He didn’t show me anything I didn’t remember. It was like… he was punishing me for everything I had done, he showed me at my most desperate…” Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I did some… desperate things to survive on the streets, you know? He made me relive that.”

“I-I’m not sure I do.” Ford stammered, though he had a sneaking suspicion that he _did_ know what Stan meant. He needed to hear it.

“I had to do whatever I could to make money and survive. Sometimes, I didn’t have much to sell… All I had was myself. It was dangerous, but I made decent money.” Stan said, his voice quiet as he could make it, afraid that the kids, or Fiddleford, might overhear. “I knew it was dangerous and stupid… But I wouldn’t have done it if I’d had any other choice. I-- I never wanted to…”

Ford didn’t need to hear the end of Stan’s sentence to understand the feeling. “You’re not the only one.”

Stan raised an eyebrow. “Ford, you won't even fuck your hillbilly boyfriend. There's no way you're going to convince me you were a hooker.”

“N-no, that’s not exactly what I meant.” Ford said, unable to really find the words he needed. “...I've never _willingly_ had sex with anyone.” He said, quietly.

“Oh… Ford, I--” Stan’s heart sank, and a white hot, seething anger bubbled up in his throat. It was more than apparent his brother never had an interest in sex, even when they were teenagers, and to know that someone had taken something so sacred without Ford giving it willingly, Stan was absolutely _furious_. “What dimension? Let’s rebuild the portal and go kill ‘em.” He said, his hands clenching into fists. He was only barely able to keep his cool; this wasn’t exactly the kind of thing he could go into a proper fit of rage over, not with the kids just upstairs. “If you haven’t already, that is.” He'd have to tell Ford that _that_ wasn't what he meant by 'never wanted to' later, right now was the time for vengeance.

“No, Stanley. It... it was here. It was Bill.” Ford said, not meeting Stan’s eyes. “I let my guard down _one time_ … I didn’t even know it was happening until it was too late. I don’t even know who the other person was, and the worst part? Bill has about as much interest in human reproduction as a brick wall, and he has even _less_ interest in my own personal... _affairs_... He only did it so he could mess with me.” Ford said, curling in on himself.

“Okay, we’re rebuilding the portal so I can find Bill and kick his ass myself.” Stan said. “And then you get to deliver the final blow.”

“Stan, it’s not that simple.” Ford said “We’re not rebuilding the portal. B-besides… it was a long time ago, I’m fine.”

“Ford…”

Ford took a deep breath, absentmindedly clutching at a coat that wasn’t there, his fingers grasping at his sweater instead. “No, that’s… that’s a lie, I’m _not_ fine. The other side of the portal was awful, a-and even before then… _I_ was awful.”

“Ford, you weren’t awful, you didn’t do anything to hurt anyone on purpose.” Stan said.

“Stanley, I nearly brought about the end of the world, the repercussions from that event are still festering down in the basement.” Ford said. “And even now that I know _why_ you did what you did to get me back, I can’t wrap my head around how you ever managed to tell yourself that the life of one man was worth the risk… Th-that you’d even risk Dipper and Mabel to get me back… Stan, I was ready to die over there, the only thing I wanted was a halfway decent universe to spend the rest of my days in. I hurt you, time and time again, and I’ve only done more damage since I got back.”

“Ford, you’re home now, that’s what matters.” Stan said, putting an arm around Ford’s shoulders. “You haven’t done more damage, you’re lookin’ at this all wrong. You did everything you could and then some when Sh-Sherman and Alexandria were… were on their deathbeds. You helped Dipper and Mabel through those first few weeks, even though it was destroying you, too. You saved us all from Bill.”

“No, Riley did. I would have never even woken up if it wasn’t for her.” Ford said. “And-- I don’t know why he did this but… But I was seeing Sherman and Alexandria one last time, while everyone else was seeing their worst nightmares.” Ford said, quietly. “...It’s like every time something goes _right,_ I’m just reminded that… things going right for me mean they’re going wrong for everyone else.”

“That’s just Bill tryin’ to put ideas in your head, Ford, that’s not true.” Stan said. “Look, if he was lying to me, he was lying to you, too.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “...Remember back in middle school? I studied my ass off for a test, and managed to get a better grade than you for the first time?” He said, quietly.

“... Dad gave me the belt for that one.” Ford said, dredging the memory from the recesses of his mind.

“You’re not alone in feelin’ like you can’t keep everyone happy _and_ be happy yourself.” Stan said. “And you’re not alone in feelin’ like you’re awful. But you’re not. You really did save us, and we’re all glad you’re here, that you made it back _home,_ even though you were willing to stay out in some sci-fi sideburn dimension for the rest of your life to keep our world safe. You’re a good person.”

Ford wrapped his arms around Stan’s torso, resting his chin on Stan’s shoulder and finding that he didn’t want to let go anytime soon. “Hearing that… coming from _you,_ of all people… Stan, it means so much to me to h-hear you say that.”

“I mean it, every word.” Stan said, hugging Ford back with full force. “I know I’m not the best person out there, but you’re not the worst. You’re not evil just because you were tricked by Bill. And you’re not evil ‘cause you were mad at me when we were kids.” He said. “And don’t worry about what happened this afternoon, okay? You said it yourself, you didn’t know it was me. You were sleep deprived.” Stan said. “...Thanks for telling me what was going on. If you ever need to talk, just… let me know, okay?”

Ford let out a soft chuckle. “I will. And I trust that you’ll do the same?” He said, holding back a yawn.

“Yeah, sure. Now go get some _sleep_. I’m sure Fiddleford’s waiting.” Stan said, pulling away from the hug and standing up, ignoring the way his knees popped and cracked when he did so. “I can get the dishes.”

“Sleep. Yes.” Ford said, covering his mouth to hide a yawn that he couldn’t hold in. “And… um, Stanley?” He asked, standing up.

“Yeah?”

“...I had fun today. Raiding the temple was...  Er, that is to say…” Ford fumbled over his words. “Thank you for coming with me.” He said, before turning and walking towards the living room.

Fiddleford sat on the air mattress in the living room, tinkering with something very small in his hands. “Good evenin’, Stanford.” He said, looking up as Ford entered the room. “How are ya feelin’?”

“Um, much better, actually.” Ford said, sitting down next to Fiddleford. “...I’m sorry I scared you earlier. What are you working on?”

“Oh! It’s nothin’, just a little… er, gadget I’m workin on.” Fiddleford said, slipping the object into his pocket. “I know you didn’t mean to scare me. I’m just glad you’re okay.” He said, gently taking hold of Ford’s hand, kissing it softly.

Ford’s face flushed red. “...No more late nights for me.” He said, leaning back onto the mattress, keeping his hold on Fiddleford’s hand. “I can’t afford to scare everyone like that again. I’m sorry, Fidds. I _promise_ I’ll always be here to protect you.”

“Stanford, _I’m_ sorry.” Fiddleford said. “You stayed up all night fer my sake, an’ you wound up payin’ fer it in the end. Ford, you-- you don’t have to put yerself in harm’s way to protect me.”

“I _wanted_ to stay up for you.” Ford said. “...I knew the consequences of doing so, and I took the risk. I just wanted you to be okay.”

“You deserve to be okay, too.” Fiddleford said, laying down next to Stanford and wrapping his spindly arms around him. Ford turned over, returning the hug as best he could.

“...How was your day? With Tate?” Ford asked.

“It went so well.” Fiddleford smiled, nestling against Ford’s chest. “His wife, Jill, is a very sweet young lady, I would love for you to meet her.”

“I might have to take you up on that.” Ford said, his eyelids drooping.

“What about your day? How was hangin’ out with Stanley?” Fiddleford asked, about to fall asleep as well.

“It was fun…” Ford said, letting his eyelids fall closed. “Stan almost got eaten by ants, but we found quite a few artifacts to use. I’ll… probably begin testing… in the morning…” Ford couldn’t fight to stay awake anymore, and fell asleep, clinging to Fiddleford in the darkness.

“...Goodnight, darlin’.” Fiddleford whispered, pulling the blanket closer around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1-20 20-1-20-5 1-14-4 10-9-12-12'19 23-5-4-4-9-14-7, 20-8-5-18-5 23-1-19 1-14 5-13-16-20-25 19-5-1-20 9-14 20-8-5 6-18-15-14-20 18-15-23.
> 
> We couldn't decide on a cipher for this chapter so you get two this time around.  
> With the publication of this chapter, we are officially off hiatus. However, due to the length of future The Wind in Visions chapters, and the fact that we want to synchronize new The Wind in Visions chapters with new Shakedown chapters as much as possible, updates will be slower than they were back when this fic was first published.  
> Also, just as a heads up, Shakedown is a prequel to The Wind in Visions and definitely ties in with this fic! We mentioned it in the notes on Shakedown but we haven't mentioned it here yet, which was a mistake on our part!
> 
> Thank you for reading the fic! Feel free to comment or send us an ask on tumblr!
> 
> (the-stan-twin.tumblr.com and the-ford-twin.tumblr.com)


	21. I Don't Want That For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 8-9-7-8 19-9-24-5-19 1-18-5 19-15 9-13-16-15-18-20-1-14-20 20-8-5-25 7-5-20 20-8-5-9-18 15-23-14 16-1-18-1-7-18-1-16-8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter! Just a casual reminder to read our other fic, Shakedown, as well! It ties into this fic! Enjoy!

“There! Now it’s _beautiful_!” Mabel said, putting the finishing touches on Ford’s ‘new’ scarf. She’d liberally applied pink glitter to it, and added several of her finest stickers (science themed, planets with smiley faces on them and atoms and beakers and test tubes). The scarf still left a lot to be desired, but at least the glitter and the stickers had covered up the worst of it, making it look a little more like a fun piece of candy than clothing scraps masquerading as a scarf. Mabel placed the scarf carefully into a shoebox she had repurposed as a gift-box, and tied the box closed with a ribbon. “I hope he likes it.”

“I think he will.” Dipper said, packing his backpack for school. “But… are you sure it’s gonna make him feel better?”

“It’s the same lump of fabric, just in a different shape. He can still wear it.” Mabel said, reassuring herself more than Dipper.

“...He was really worked up about it yesterday.” Dipper said. “And I actually read some of his notes on other dimensions. I snuck into the basement to grab them, because I knew they’d help Grunkle Ford.”

“Really? What’d they say?” Mabel asked. “He _never_ talks about the portal, was he ever in a universe that had puppies with _laser eyes_?!”

“Mabel… the multiverse is terrifying. More terrifying than anything we’ve faced in Gravity Falls.” Dipper said, slowly. “His notes weren’t all in English, and I didn’t read all of them because I knew it’d make Ford upset, but…” Dipper sat down on his bed, fidgeting with his hat.

“I get it…. I just hope it wasn't _all_ terrible. He had to have come across _something_ nice during thirty years.” Mabel said.

“...I think he did, sometimes.” Dipper said. “But his notes are all about him almost starving or freezing to d-- to death, and natural disasters from types of storms we don’t even _get_ in our universe. And getting sent to alien prison, and being drafted to fight in some interstellar war, and a dimension where _time didn’t exist_. And… no wonder he was upset yesterday.”

“Dipper…” Mabel sighed, placing a hand on her brother’s shoulder. “He’s not there anymore. He’s home, he’s got us, and Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Fidds. Nothing bad can happen to him anymore, and if he _does_ get scared, we’re here with him.

“I know that, but I don’t think _he_ does.” Dipper said, staring at the hat in his hands. “I’m just… worried, is all. Come on, let’s go give Grunkle Ford his scarf.” He said, standing up and grabbing his backpack.

Mabel grabbed her backpack and held the gift box gently in her hands. “He’s gonna love it, I can tell.” She said. “And he’s gonna be okay. Grunkle Stan said so himself.”

“I hope you guys are right.” Dipper said as they walked down the stairs.

The twins were greeted with the smell of cinnamon and bacon grease, which only meant that Grunkle Stan was making breakfast.

“Morning, kids.” Ford said, looking up from the stove, where he was attempting to make an omelet. “Do you like ham in your omelets?”

“Good morning, Grunkle Ford!” Mabel exclaimed, relieved to see him up and doing something normal.

“Alright, kids. Today we’re having omelets, Stan-cakes, and Fiddleford’s making bacon. Hope you two are hungry.” Stan said. He was standing next to Ford, making a pancake in (roughly) the shape of his face.

“So are they called Stan-cakes ‘cause they look like ya?” Fiddleford asked.

“No, they’re called Stan-cakes ‘cause I always find some hair in ‘em.” Stan said.

“And it’s usually Grunkle Stan’s hair.” Dipper added.

“Well who else’s hair would it be? Toby Determined’s?” Stan said. “Admit it, you kids like ‘em.”

“There are worse things than hairy pancakes.” Ford said, a soft smile on his face. “Alright, I think I got this whole… omelet thing down. Who wants the first one? This one’s got ham, and chives, and some cheddar cheese I found in the fridge that I’m not sure is still fresh.” Ford asked, using a spatula to flip the omelet closed.

“I’ll take it!” Dipper said, setting his backpack down in order to take the plate from Ford. “Thank you… It looks good.”

“Grunkle Ford! Dipper and I have something for you!” Mabel said, setting down her backpack and handing Ford the shoebox.

“Oh? Thank you, Mabel.” Ford smiled, taking the box from her carefully. “Should I open it now?”

“Yes!” Mabel said, smiling wide. “Yes, you should _totally_ open it now, you’re gonna _love_ it!”

Ford sat down at the table and untied the ribbon slowly, not wanting to ruin it, briefly wondering what the occasion was. He carefully took the lid off of the shoebox, and pulled out a long, lumpy, glittery scarf. “Is this made out of… my old coat?” He asked, quietly.

Mabel nodded, scanning Ford’s face for a reaction. “It is. I couldn’t make it a coat again, but you can still wear it, and it can keep you warm, and now it’s got stickers too!” She said softly. “Do you like it?”

The fact that someone had gone through such lengths to salvage his coat, to make it something worthwhile again after it’d been torn to pieces, warmed Ford’s heart, even if the scarf wasn’t his usual style. “I love it, Mabel. Thank you.” He said, putting a hand on Mabel’s shoulder.

Mabel leaned against Ford and threw a tiny arm around him. “I hope it helps you. I can try and make it into something different if you don’t like it.” She said.

“No, no, I really do like it.” Ford said, setting the scarf down so he could give Mabel a proper hug. “You already worked so hard on it, I truly appreciate it.”

Mabel squeezed Ford with all of her might and held onto the fabric of his sweater. “I love you, Grunkle Ford, even when you feel sad.”

Ford stiffened at Mabel’s hug. He tried not to look at Stan, Dipper, or Fiddleford, who were, by now, all staring at them, trying to gauge Ford’s reaction. _I really scared them yesterday. They’re all worried because of me, they shouldn’t have to worry about me, they’ve got enough on their plates,_ he thought. Ford gave Mabel a gentle squeeze, running a hand through her hair. “I love you too, Mabel.” He said, softly.

Mabel pulled away with a big smile, and wrapped the scarf around Ford’s neck. “I’m glad you like the scarf.” She said. “I tried to make it cute.”

“It seems you succeeded.” Ford said. “Now… do you want an omelet, or some Stan-cakes?” He asked.

“Both please!” Mabel said, taking a seat at the table. “And can I have extra cheese on my omelet?” She asked, swinging her legs.

“Of course.” Ford said as Stan finished making the Stan-cakes, setting two on a plate for Mabel, right next some of Fiddleford’s bacon.

“So, Grunkle Ford… what are you gonna do today?” Dipper asker, as Ford set to making another omelet.

“Oh, nothing special. I'll probably be down in the basement all day. Stanley and I managed to recover some artifacts that I believe will help in resurrec-- In my current endeavors.” Ford corrected himself, not wanting to stress Dipper and Mabel out before school started by reminding them of the past.

“Let me know if you need my help.” Dipper offered with a little smile.

“I will, Dipper.” Ford said, adding a liberal amount of cheese to Mabel’s omelet. “But, this _isn’t_ going to interfere with your studies in any way, shape, or form. Homework first, then the lab. And that goes for _both_ of you.”

“Yes, Grunkle Ford.” Dipper and Mabel nodded in unison. Ford smiled, folding the omelet closed and carefully sliding it onto Mabel’s plate.

“Alright, one omelet with extra cheese.” He said, watching Mabel take her first bite. “...H-How does it taste?”

Mabel took a big bite and grinned wide at the taste. “Really cheesy! I like it!” She said. “Thanks, Grunkle Ford!”

“Really? Well, I’m glad you like it.” Ford said, returning Mabel’s smile. “Whenever you two are ready, I’ll walk you to the bus stop.”

Mabel scarfed down the rest of her omelet and ran her plate over to the sink. “I’m ready!”

“Me too.” Dipper said, grabbing his backpack and putting his own dishes in the sink. Mabel hurried to the door and pulled on her coat and gloves, with Dipper following suit, and Ford led them all out the door, his hands resting on their shoulders.

“...So I reckon you wanna talk about Stanford?” Fiddleford said, quietly, once Ford had closed the door.

“I know I was sure he’d be fine at dinner last night, but…” Stan sighed. “Ford and I talked about it afterwards. He told me… some stuff, and now I’m not so sure. I guess after bein’ apart for so long, I don’t know him as well as I used to. I was thinking maybe you could help with that. I might have known him longer but you knew him right up until those last few months before he called me up here.”

“What… _kind_ of stuff did he tell you, exactly?” Fiddleford asked, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “An’ I agree, poolin’ our efforts would help Ford out the most in the long run.”

“He told me about the sickening things Bill did to him…” Stan paused. “What’d he tell you?”

“About the same. After Bill attacked us, he told me everythin’ that had happened between the two of ‘em. I hadn’t known what the nature of Ford’s, er… _partnership_ was with Bill at the time, an’ I’ll admit… I was under th’ misconception that Ford had _wanted_ all those bad things ta happen. Now that I know the truth of what happened, I… almost wish I didn’t.” Fiddleford said, tugging at his beard.

“So, when you say… _everything_ …”

“Stanley, if I could, I would go right down into the basement and through the rift to th’ nightmare realm so I could tear that-- that _demon_ to shreds fer what he’s done.” Fiddleford said. “If I only had the means… or the courage…”

“...So we’re talking about the same thing then?” Stan asked. “And when you say you thought Ford wanted all the shit that you went through to happen… Ah, how do I put this? You got any idea why _Ford_ would keep going on about how he’s some kind of asshole? After thirty years? Even just yesterday, he was _still_ trying to apologize for our fight? I can understand once or twice, it was a pretty big fight, but...”

“Stanley, he held a grudge against you fer ten years after you accidentally broke his science fair project.” Fiddleford said. “ _He_ accidentally unleashed some kinda unholy demon on the whole world. A demon that, from what I understand, caused yer fight to get _that bad_ in the first place.”

“He’s holdin’ a grudge against _himself_ now! Christ, of all the--” Stan sighed. “...Look, this kinda thing isn't _completely_ new for Ford, but I’m used to him just being insecure about the fingers thing. I _know_ how to deal with the fingers thing. Him thinking he’s some kinda villain is completely new territory, and frankly I don’t understand it.” He said. “I don’t… _know_ how to get Ford to understand that he’s not a bad guy. I mean, hell, I’ve got a criminal record three miles long but is anyone here acting like I’m some James Bond villain with an eyepatch?”

“You _do_ wear an eyepatch and you had black helicopters swarmin’ the whole town when you restarted the portal.” Fiddleford deadpanned. “Though, I reckon yer right, and that’s the root of the problem. Or one of ‘em at least. After everythin’ that happened… who knows what’s goin on in that head of his?”

“I think he should see a shrink… but what medical professional is gonna listen to Ford’s stories about the portal and believe him?” Stan sighed, resting his head on his hands. “...Maybe if we walk around those damn woods long enough we’ll find some sort of magic whatever that has a psychology degree.” _Maybe Ford really can bring Alexandria and Sherman back. Maybe the kids will get their parents back and Ford can get some help._

_And maybe I’ll win a million bucks._

Ford walked through what snow was left on the ground, the town hadn’t seen a snowfall in a few days and it beginning to melt, shivering against the cold and trying his best to hide it from the kids. _I can’t believe I forgot to grab a coat… Then again, what coat would I even wear right now? I don’t have a spare_. He thought, absentmindedly fidgeting with the scarf around his neck. “I really do appreciate the scarf, kids.” Ford said. “I can’t believe you managed to make _anything_ out of that old coat.”

Mabel held onto the straps of her backpack and smiled up at Ford. “I tried really hard. Is it keeping you warm?” She asked, her voice hopeful.

“Of course. And I especially like the stickers.” Ford said. “You’re very talented, Mabel.”

“I could teach you, you know. It's not too hard, and it's very relaxing. I found those knitting needles in the pockets of your coat, so you must know a little something.

“Ah-- I hope you didn’t hurt yourself!” Ford said, kneeling down to Mabel’s level. “Those were some weaponized knitting needles I’d made, sort of as a proof of concept, they're electrified. I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize that you’d come in contact with the coat. Are you alright?”

“I'm fine! I noticed they were really pointy. You might wanna knit with dull ones though, you might hurt yourself.” Mabel patted Ford's hand, frowning just a bit when she noticed that the scratches on his hands weren’t completely healed.

Ford quickly retracted his hand. “I’m glad you didn’t accidentally hurt yourself on them, and I’d be honored if you taught me to knit. Don’t worry, I won’t go using anything sharp to knit with.” He said. _Please, please don’t worry about me. You’ve got enough on your plate without having to worry about me._

“Awesome! I can give you a lesson tonight!” Mabel paused to look through her backpack and pulled out a few floral band aids and handed them to Ford. “For your hand.”

Ford froze, and now Dipper was staring at him again, trying to gauge his reaction, _worry in his eyes, they’re worried about me, I can’t keep scaring them like this. They deserve to be happy, even if I’m not_. Ford slowly reached out and took one of the bandages from Mabel. “Thank you, but they’re mostly fine now. They should be all healed by tomorrow.” He said, trying his best to reassure her. “I’m _fine_ now. I’m not going to get hurt, I’m not going to panic, nothing bad is going to happen. I promise.” He said, putting a hand on Dipper and Mabel’s shoulders.

Mabel reached out to take Ford's hand, holding onto it with her tiny hand as they walked. Dipper sighed and pulled his hat down tighter, trying to clear his mind of worries. Slowly, he reached out to take Ford’s other hand, and Ford gave Dipper’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I mean it, Dipper. I’ve been through worse.” Ford said. “I’m fine.”

Dipper let go of Ford's hand once they reached the bus stop to check his watch. “We're right on time.” He said, pushing some snow around with his foot. “Hey… Grunkle Ford?”

“Yes, Dipper?” Ford asked, kneeling down to Dipper’s level. Dipper seized the opportunity to remove his hat, and placed it on Ford’s head, much to his surprise.

“You’re gonna be okay.” Dipper said, giving Ford a smile as the bus pulled up to the stop. Ford stepped back, watching Dipper and Mabel get on the bus, giving them a tiny wave as he watched them pull away, dumbfounded and mulling over Dipper’s words.

 _You’re gonna be okay_. Ford sighed, reaching for the coat that was no longer there, his fingers finding a scarf in its place. _That means he knows you’re not okay now._ He slowly began his walk back to the Shack, the only sound being the crunch of snow beneath his boots. _Those kids don’t deserve that burden. I really haven’t done much of anything lately, have I? It’s my house, but… Stanley payed off the mortgage, Fiddleford’s starting his own business, and what do I do? Attempt to help Fidds from time to time with his computers? Try my hand at necromancy down in the basement? That won’t help them, not until it actually succeeds. That won’t pay the bills or cook them meals or save up for college. That won’t help them survive. That won’t-- oh god that won’t pay for Hanukkah presents or movie tickets or birthdays. I can’t just sit around being useless, I need a real job. I need to do **something** or just leave._

_To think that I once wanted everyone out of my house… and now I’m the one considering leaving it behind?_

“I reckon he needs to talk to someone,” Fiddleford said, picking at the Stan-cake on his plate, the fork clinking against the dish. “But he’s gonna have a hard time trustin’ anyone but us. He don’ trust easy, never has in all the years I’ve known ‘im. Not even back in college, really. It's worse now, though.”

“We’re not really qualified to help him, though.” Stan said. “I mean… I wasn’t ‘qualified’ to rebuild the portal and get Ford back, but… this is a little trickier than that.” _Who knew that saving Ford from the portal… would only be the halfway point?_

The room hushed as the back door opened, Ford shivered and shut the door as quick as he could. “It’s freezing out there…” He muttered, glancing around the room, his eyes locking with Fiddleford’s for a brief moment before Ford looked away, unable to take the worry in Fiddleford’s eyes. “I’ll be in my study. I have a lot of work to do.” Ford said, grabbing the messenger bag full of artifacts from its spot on the floor and ducking into the basement.

“...I’m really worried ‘bout ‘im.” Fiddleford said. “Stanford focusin’ on work when he’s upset has never been a good sign.”

“If he stays down there for more than two hours, I’m checking on him.” Stan said, folding his arms. “I’m not letting him go around staying up and working himself too hard again.”

Ford slumped on the other side of the vending machine, every word that was said about him pounding in his skull. _You’re a useless, dangerous, know-it-all. Maybe if you went to live in the bunker everyone might be alright. You’re just weighing them down. You’re not okay and you’re not doing them any favors by sticking around._ Ford walked down the stairs and into the elevator, forcing himself not to hunch over, to stand up straight and proud. He would not show weakness around the ghost in the basement, despite the horrible thoughts swirling in his head, the ones that told him that he should have just ignored the portal when it opened before him, gone on his merry way. That wasn't right, he knew that if there was even one thing he could do correctly, that he _had_ to do correctly, it was resealing the rift. If he hadn’t returned to his dimension, Bill could have destroyed it long ago. _So you being here isn’t useless. And you **staying** here isn’t useless, either, someone’s got to contain the rift every time it cracks. And get Sherman and Alexandria back. And by being here, you got to meet Dipper and Mabel. And Sherman, and Alexandria. And you got to see Stanley and Fiddleford again, you got to see Susan too, and Manly Dan. You got to reunite with so many people, see your **home** again. Just calm down, everything is going to be fine. _

“...Fred testified that he heard Gus ask Hit if he had “taken care of the assignment concerning Vicky,” and that Hit then drew his index finger across his own throat. Assuming all appropriate objections and motions were timely made, did the court properly allow the prosecution to call Whitney? Did the court properly admit the testimony of Whitney, Ella, or Fred?” Ford stood still in the open elevator doors, listening to Riley talking to herself, wondering if this was something she was merely doing to pass the time or if this was some sort of ghostly phenomena he’d yet to discover. Riley paused, thinking for a moment, before continuing. “Under Proposition 8 in California, all non-privileged, relevant evidence is admissible in a criminal prosecution brought in California unless it falls within one of the specified exceptions to the rule-- Oh, you’re back!” Riley said, her train of thought interrupted as Ford slowly walked into her view from the mirror.

“What _was_ that? Who is Fred? And Vicky?” Ford asked, pulling out a notebook from one of his desk drawers. Soon, he’d need to make another journal. Recording his findings in a simple notebook just didn’t have the same feeling as writing them out in a journal did.

“Oh, no one, they’re made up.” Riley said. “I got bored so I tried answering a few bar exam questions. You know you can find samples on the internet? I only remembered the murder one, though.”

“Bar exam? Were you interested in studying law?” Ford asked. “I thought you said you were in sports?”

“You know the thing about that is that some people have more than one hobby.” Riley deadpanned. “I mean, come on, _you_ have to like _something_ besides all this spooky stuff.” She sighed, floating absentmindedly around the mirror. “But yeah, I wanted to study law in college. So did you find your magic science stuff?”

“Y-yes I did. I went through Hell and back, but I got it.” Ford said, opening the messenger bag and setting out a few artifacts.

“So what is this going to do?” Riley asked. “Where’d you even get this stuff?”

“They’re ancient druid summoning artifacts, there’s a temple not too far from here.” Ford said, retrieving Riley’s dice from the shelf where Dipper had hidden them the previous day, letting Riley out of the mirror.

Riley took a quick lap around the room, smiling as she floated around Ford’s head. “I was getting a little stir crazy, thanks!”

“...I wonder if there’s a way to trap you in a circle, so you’d have a little room to maneuver.” Ford said. “The idea of a ghost using the words ‘stir crazy’ to describe themselves in any way is more than a little dangerous.” Ford began searching through the drawers on his desk, until he found an old, crusted salt shaker that hadn’t been touched since 1982.

“Well, I can only stare at a wall for so long. And I don’t think you wanna spend every day down here in your weird science lair talking to me.” Riley said, floating just above Ford's shoulder. “I… Uh, I really appreciate the offer.”

Ford merely shrugged, sprinkling the salt in a large circle, about four feet in diameter. “The reason you're here is because you're _docile._ Dipper and I actually encountered two ghosts at a convenience store, and tried to get some answers. They were maybe category three, possibly four, and they still could have seriously injured both of us. You're more powerful, but you're weak right now because you're hundreds of miles away from your haunt. Whatever keeps you nonviolent and essentially powerless, I'm willing to try.” Ford said.

“Holy shit.” Riley gaped. “You’re really adamant about getting those kid’s parents back… I respect that. I wanna do whatever I have to in order to help.” She said. “Though… I guess with me that can be chalked up to some kind of ghostly obsession.” Riley shrugged. “Still… to go through all that for your family. That's really cool of you.”

Ford took a deep breath, completing the circle and stepping back. “...Alright, let's see if salt circles work on ghosts. Fly into the circle and see if you can fly out.”

Riley nodded and floated around the circumference slowly, and tentatively floated into the circle. “Wait is this gonna hurt when I try to test it?”

“I-- I'm not sure.” Ford said. “To be honest, I've only ever used it to ward off various lesser demons.” He said, scratching the back of his head. Riley was a ghost, and responsible for Sherman and Alexandria’s deaths, but… she was just a teenager. And taking the risk of somehow hurting her felt a _lot_ like taking the risk of harming a living, breathing teen.

Riley squeezed her eyes shut to gather her courage, and slowly extended her hand towards the barrier. She didn't register Ford moving towards the circle to break it, she only registered a cold, hard sensation when her hand connected with the barrier, before Ford broke the circle and Riley fell through.

“...You alright?” He asked, quietly, giving Riley a half-hearted glare.

Riley did her best to not appear shaken. “Yeah! I'm fine. It didn't hurt, it just felt like pressing my hand against a glass window.” She said.

“Well then… I'll make a note of that, and we'll just use a salt trap instead of the mirror.” Ford said.

“That was really weird…” Riley said, grasping her hand to the hole in her chest. “But better than the mirror at least.” She said.

“...So you'll be fine as long as you don't touch the barrier.” Ford said.

“Yeah. Thank you.”

Ford paused, glancing over at Riley. “Don't mention it. Now, let's get to work.”

Mabel practically ran down the hallway towards Pacifica, more than ready to walk with her to lunch. Dipper followed close behind, his nose buried in a book, trying to concentrate on something other than Ford, something that would ease his worries for his uncle.

Mabel walked close to Pacifica, her hand barely resisting the urge to grab Pacifica’s. “When are you going to be able to go-- _hang_ out with me again?”

“Soon. My parents don’t like me going out very often with… with people they don’t approve of.” She said, puffing her chest out to avoid slouching at the mention of her parents.

“Maybe if you just asked them! Just ask if I can come over, they can meet me. All my other friends’ parents like me!” Mabel was almost begging. “I wanna spend more time with you.”

“It's not you. I'm sure they'd like you and you're the nicest person in the world, so there'd be no problems there.” Pacifica said. “It's a money thing to them.”

“Not surprising.” Dipper deadpanned, looking up from his book. “They're the worst. And I'd say that to their _faces_.”

“Dipper!” Mabel scoffed, crossing her arms. “You have to kill them with _kindness_.”

“ _They’d_ rather kill everyone by letting them get turned into trees by a ghost.” Dipper muttered under his breath. No matter what happened, no matter what the Northwests did or what became of Pacifica and Mabel’s relationship, Dipper would never forgive Pamela and Preston Northwest for endangering Mabel with their pride and recklessness.

“Can we just change the subject?” Pacifica halted right outside of the steps up to the cafeteria, her arms crossed, closing her eyes to calm herself down.

“Sure!” Mabel said. “What if I told you that I knew a place in school where we could hold hands and junk?”

Pacifica blushed and turned to Mabel. “Where nobody would see us?”

“Yeah! Well, it's just Coach Berkley's office, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind!” Mabel said. “He said we can go eat lunch in his office whenever we need to, so it should be fine! And if we ask nicely I'm sure he won't tell your parents or anything.”

“I don’t know, Mabel….” Pacifica said.

“I can go with you guys. So that no one will get suspicious of you two!” Dipper said.

“You would do that?” Pacifica raised an eyebrow. “What’s in it for you?”

“No one bullying my sister _or_ her girlfriend?” Dipper said, raising an eyebrow. 

“Don’t question it, Paz, he’s doing something nice for us!” Mabel grabbed Pacifica by the hand and led the way to Coach Berkley’s office. Dipper followed suit, more than ready to jump to his sister’s defense if necessary.

“Maybe you should post a status update on Twitter? So your clique doesn't wonder where you are for too long and create a power vacuum.” Dipper said, preparing a mental checklist for Mabel’s sake. “Maybe you have detention or something.”

“Good idea, brobro.” Mabel said as they rounded the corner to Berkley's office. “Coach Berkley will totally vouch for you, too.”

Pacifica pulled out her phone and sent out a mass text in the blink of an eye. “So how'd you guys make friends with the gym teacher?”

“Well first we hated him… because of supernatural reasons.” Mabel said.

“And then we needed his help to get rid of a pixie infestation in the school.” Dipper said. “He's not that bright, but having a teacher that knows about the paranormal has come in handy so far.” He added, as the trio walked up to Coach Berkley's office door.

Berkley answered with a half of a tuna sandwich in his hand. “Oh, Dipper, Mabel. And Pacifica, right? What's going on?” He asked.

“Would you mind if we ate lunch in your office today? The cafeteria is… really crowded.” Mabel asked.

“Look, kids, I said my office was open any time you needed it. So you don't have to make up any excuses.” Berkley said. “Come on in, pull up a chair. I'm sure I have a few around here somewhere.” He said, setting the sandwich down on top of a stack of papers and pushing past piles of sports equipment for three extra chairs.

“Actually… Coach Berkley, I've got a question for you.” Dipper said, fumbling with his book as he tried to put it into his backpack. “It's, uh, about the _supernatural._ ” He whispered.

“Oh, uh, okay?” Berkley said, balancing two chairs in one hand and reaching for a third. He set two of the chairs down. “How's about we talk, ah, outside then?” He said, scratching the back of his head.

Dipper nodded and stepped outside, Coach Berkley following behind. “So what's this about? Did something snatch your hat?” Berkley asked.

“Uh-- Uh, no, and sorry, it's not specifically about something supernatural.” Dipper said. “...So, I've got this… _friend_.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And a long time ago, something really bad happened. Well… a lot of bad things happened, and they kept happening and now he’s not alright. He needs to talk to someone, but… the bad thing that happened is _paranormal_ in nature and he can’t tell anyone about it.” Dipper said. “And he’s upset and he won’t talk about it, and he can’t talk about it with me and I’m really worried.”

Berkley let out a tiny sigh. “Dipper, is this friend a student at the school?” He asked. “If he’s upset, and he can’t talk about it with anyone else, he can always talk about it with me.”

“No, not exactly… He’s… my Grunkle.” Dipper said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “...I’ve been trying to think of a solution all day but I just _can’t_. I’m supposed to be the smart one, I just-- I’m worried and I don’t know what to do.”

Berkley had to admit, this was the first time in Gravity Falls Middle School history that a student had come to a teacher talking about a friend when they _didn’t_ really mean themselves. In a strange, melancholy way, Coach Berkley felt honored. “...Dipper, I’m not going to lie, that’s a tough question to answer. I--” Berkley sighed. “A long time ago, back when I was about your age, people in this town talked about the supernatural all the time. It was the town’s selling point. Still is, in a way. But, uh… sometime when I was just entering high school, people just stopped talking about it. They seemed… happier.” Berkley paused. “Remember on your first day? When I told you and your sister not to go around talking about the supernatural?”

“Yeah, but we kind of have experience, we know what--”

“Trust me, kid.” Berkley said, holding up a hand. “Listen, I don’t normally do this, but it sounds like your… Grunkle? What is that, some kind of uncle?”

“Great Uncle.”

“Yeah. It sounds like your great uncle doesn’t have much of a choice here.” Berkley’s voice was solemn. “...They call themselves the Society of the Blind Eye. They deal with stuff like this. Bunch of crackpots if you ask me, but I guess the rest of the town doesn’t seem to think so. They might be able to help your uncle.” Recommending that Dipper take his uncle to see that infernal cult made every inch of Coach Berkley’s skin crawl, but he pressed forward nonetheless. “Just promise me one thing, promise me you’ll only call them one time. Don’t go there more than once.”

“Okay, um, yeah… about _that_ …” Dipper said. “They ‘help’ by erasing memories. Mabel and I took them down over the summer. And my uncle can’t get his mind erased anyways. He’s got a metal plate in his head.”

Berkley sighed, the mysteries surrounding Dipper Pines were only growing darker. _What happened to make him freak out like that on his first day? Why does everything about this kid scream bad situation? Who’s this supernatural Grunkle, is he the root of the problem or is he just another victim of whatever’s messing with this kid? What can I do to help him if I can barely understand him?_ “...Yeah, I know they erase memories.” He said, quietly.

Mabel sat as close as she possibly could to Pacifica, one hand grasping Pacifica’s as they quietly munched on their lunch.

“Are you okay?” Pacifica asked, squeezing Mabel’s hand. “...You said you hated the gym teacher at first because of supernatural reasons, and you were really vague about why you and Dipper skipped school the other day.”

Mabel looked down at her lap, afraid of scaring Pacifica with the truth. “Paz… If I tell you this, don’t get scared. I promise I’m okay.”

“Mabel, what is it? You’re kind of scaring me already.” Pacifica said, leaning in closer to Mabel. “Whatever it is, I can throw money at it to fix it.”

“Well… _it_ is a scary dream demon that can possess anyone for a reason that my Grunkle swore me to secrecy on.” Mabel said, forcing herself to tell the truth, but stopping short at any mention of the rift. She promised Ford that she wouldn’t tell anyone and she wasn’t going to break it. “His name is Bill, and he pretty much wants to take over the world. And he thinks getting to us is the way to do it.”

“Okay so he’s a scary dream demon… _and_ his name is _Bill_?” Pacifica asked. “Just Bill, nothing else? Nothing… weirder? More, I don’t know, demonic?”

“Trust me, he’s weird. He doesn't seem that intimidating at first, but… He’s really scary. And if he ever, EVER tries to talk to you, you run away, you come find me or Dipper or my Grunkles. Never shake his hand.” Mabel pleaded, squeezing Pacifica’s hand, looking in her eyes. “He looks like the triangle on the back of the dollar bill.”

“Is _that why he’s named Bill--_ ”

“Pacifica, this isn’t the time for corny puns.” Mabel said. “ _Please_ , you’ve got to promise me that you’ll come to one of us if he tries to talk to you.”

Pacifica took a deep breath, and took Mabel’s hand in both of hers. “I promise. I believe you. And you’ll tell me if… if something bad with Bill happens again?”

“I will.” Mabel said, hugging Pacifica with all her might.

Pacifica gripped Mabel back, gently petting the back of her head. “I really like you, Mabel. I wanna be sure you’re safe.”

“I’ll be fine.” Mabel said. “Trust me, my Grunkles would do anything to protect me and Dipper. And you, too.” She sighed. “Grunkle Ford would do anything to protect the whole _world…_ ” She added, quietly.

Pacifica pulled away with a genuine, rare, smile. “Good. I guess I have something in common with your grunkles.” She said, looking at Mabel with stars in her eyes.

Mabel blushed and punched Pacifica in the arm. “Oh my _god_ , you’re actually being sappy! I should take a picture to commemorate the moment!”

“Huh? What? No, I’m not being sappy, I--”

“Scrapbook-ortunity!” Mabel said, smiling wide and pulling out her phone to take a selfie, pulling Pacifica close.

Pacifica smiled for the picture and laughed when Mabel pulled away to add filters and stickers to the picture. “Send that to me.” She said.

“Okay! Hang on, let me add some more stickers.” She said, adding a few hearts and cat smiley faces.

Pacifica leaned on Mabel to watch over her shoulder, picking her lunch back up again as she watched. “...This was a really good idea, Mabel. Who knew the weird gym teacher would be… kinda cool?”

“Aw, shucks.” Coach Berkley said from the doorway, scratching the back of his head. “I’m not cool, I’m just a middle aged man trying to scrape out a living.”

“Emphasis on _kinda_.” Pacifica corrected, not letting her guard down for too long.

“Fair enough.” Berkley said as Dipper re-entered the room.

“So, enough chit-chat. I’m starving.” He said, picking his sandwich up from his desk.

It was about an hour and a half before Ford emerged from the basement, forcing himself away from his work, the fear that Stanley really would come down to the basement and cause a scene fresh in his mind. He told himself that he didn’t want to upset the delicate balance he’d found with Riley, that if the ghost lost respect for him then it would really be hopeless. But Ford knew that that was a lie. The idea that Stanley and Fiddleford thought he was so helpless made Ford’s skin crawl, the fact that he’d scared them into thinking that way made Ford want to punch something.

Fiddleford sat with Stanley in the kitchen, writing out Stan’s advice for running a business, even the sketchy-at-best pieces. “This is some great stuff, Stanley.” He said. “Ford an’ I are mighty thankful fer your help.”

“Sure thing. I’m not chargin’ you, because you’re family, so don’t go givin’ this out to anyone else for free, alright?” Stanley said. “Actually, don’t give _anything_ to anyone for free. And don’t say please. Please never made anyone any money.”

Fiddleford nodded, writing Stanley’s words down carefully. “You could write a book, you know.”

“That’s more Ford’s thing.” Stan huffed. “Besides, if I sold all my business secrets where would that leave me, huh? They wouldn’t be secrets anymore!”

Fiddleford chuckled and set down his pen. “That’s true.” He looked up to notice Ford lingering in the doorway, looking apprehensive. “Hello, darlin’! Did you make any progress down there?”

Ford tried to put as much pride into his words as he could, to prove to Stanley and Fiddleford that his research was worthwhile, that he was making any sort of reasonable progress. But instead, he met Fiddleford’s eyes and became speechless. “I-- Well, most of t-the artifacts are working well enough. I’ll still have to… to do some more tests. I thought I’d take a break and get a snack.” Ford wanted to kick himself. He should be working, he didn't have any results yet, now wasn't the time for a break.

“Would you like me to make you somethin’?” Fiddleford rose from his seat, pulling his chair out so Ford could have a place to sit.

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll only be up here a few minutes.” Ford said. “I was just thinking of making a sandwich.”

“Take a seat, Ford, relax a little.” Stan said, leaning out of his chair to grab a can of Pitt from the fridge for Ford.

“I’m _fine._ ” Ford said, taking out a loaf of bread from the cabinet, trying not to squash it between his hands. _You’re not fine, it’s not fine. You don’t need to be here, they’d all be better off without you_.

“You sure?” Stan asked, clearing his throat. “Well, if you feel like takin’ a break, I could use some help going shopping for the kids’ Hanukkah presents.” He said, offering the can of Pitt Cola to Ford. “You don’t have to if you’re not up to it, but…”

Ford’s hands clenched into fists at the mention of Hanukkah, and he practically stormed out of the room, making Stan and Fiddleford jump a little. It wasn’t long before Ford returned with some spare copy paper he’d found in the gift shop, writing furiously with the fountain pen that usually took up residence in his coat. Ford gave Stan a begrudging sigh, before handing him what appeared to be a hastily written resume.

“...I’d like to apply for a job.” He said, quietly.

“What?”

“I’ve got twelve PhD’s, six years of experience as a paranormal investigator, I’m a licensed basabasa exterminator in Dimension 890-E, I fought against the armies of Zelaeh in Dimension 19L:\ for three years, I worked in a grocery store in dimension 5720-B which is more impressive than it sounds because that planet didn’t have oxygen in its atmosphere, I’ve led revolutions and uprisings in Dimension 11B09\\\, I’m more than qualified as a teacher. I could help you build attractions or go on expeditions to find real artifacts for the Shack--”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Stan said, taking the resume from Ford’s hands. He knew Ford was a regular busybody, he had been since his youth, and Stan could tell without a second glance that without a research grant or any real source of income, Ford was feeling a little useless. Stanley more than understood the feeling.

“Dear… _why_ would you want to work at the Shack?” Fiddleford asked. “I mean, yer a bit overqualified, don’tcha think?”

“Hey now.” Stan said, a hand on his hip. “Ford can help around the Shack all he wants.” It warmed Stan's heart to know that Ford would choose the Mystery Shack to break back into the job market, that he didn't think the Shack was a waste of time.

Ford’s shoulders slumped, his fingers fumbling with the glittery scarf that was draped around his shoulders, wishing it was still a coat, wishing that everything could just go back to the way it was. “...There’s nowhere else for me to go, really. If I try to work my way back into the scientific community I’ll either become a laughing stock or I could risk the safety of the entire world. If I go into sales, no one will hire me because they’ll never accept my previous work experience as fact, not to mention the _extensive_ criminal record now in my name.” Ford sighed. “You’re the only person who will believe me. This is… the only job I _can_ do. Stan, I’m tired of sitting around the house and being-- and being useless all the time.”

“What about the computermajig business we’re tryin’ to start up _together_ , Stanford? You aren’t useless.” Fiddleford said, standing up and taking Ford’s hand in his.

“I’m happy you’re getting into the computer business, I really am.” Ford said. “And I’m _honored_ to be a part of it, even though it was my fault you weren’t making computers years ago. I just…” Ford sighed, giving Fiddleford’s hand a light squeeze. “I’ll never get my old life back. Not really. And I guess I just feel left behind because of that.”

Stan paused, he recognized the hopelessness in Ford’s voice. It had been the same hopelessness that rang underneath Ford’s drunken speech as he’d sobbed into Stan’s chest just after Shiva. Stan fought to push down the memory, he wasn’t going to let Ford get that bad again. He wasn’t going to let Ford give up, he wasn’t going to let Ford resign himself again.

Fiddleford pulled Ford into his arms, squeezing him tightly. “Stanford, you are brilliant, you could have any job you wanted. You may not get yer old life back… But you have a new life now. With me, and yer brother, and the kids. You’re as much a part of this business as I am, we work as a team now. I’m proud to say that you’re my equal.”

Ford paused, stiffening in Fiddleford’s arms, awkwardly bending down so Fiddleford didn’t have to stand on his toes. “I know it’s childish, but… I suppose I feel a little left out.” He said, softly, trying to force himself to open up, reminding himself that he trusted Fiddleford. With everything he had.

“Stanford… I’m so sorry. I want to include you, I do!” Fiddleford said, squeezing Ford a little tighter. “An’ it’s not childish to feel left out. I understand being left out of things.” He added.

Stanford relaxed, just a little bit, wrapping his arms around Fiddleford. “...Thanks.” He said, quietly, before letting go of Fiddleford to get a good look at Stanley. “I still need a job, though.”

“Look, Ford, I’m really happy you wanna help out around the Shack. But I think we both know that between your science junk and your computer junk, retail would be absolute shit on your nerves, especially right now.” Stan said. “...How about I give you and Fiddlenerd a small… _business loan_ or somethin’? Nothing too fancy, maybe a thousand dollars. And when you make that much money from your computer thing, you can pay me back.” Stanley shrugged.

“Um, well, it’s not that I don’t _appreciate_ that.” Ford started. “Because I do, immensely. But until Fiddleford-- until Fiddleford and I make that much money, I still won’t be able to pay for anything. I still need a job. And if I can’t get one _here_ , where else am I going to go?”

“Okay, first of all, you could make millions off of the stupid light bulb that lasts a thousand years you made for the kitchen.” Stan said. “Which, somehow, you managed to invent _in less time_ than it took me to get to the store and buy normal fucking lightbulbs. Second! I’m giving you _one thousand dollars_ , Ford.” Stanley said, with a wink.

“Um… _yes_ , I understood that part.” Ford said, raising an eyebrow. “But I can’t exactly use a business loan to buy the kids Hanukkah presents.”

“Sure you can!” Stan said, patting Ford’s chest with a conman’s smile. “They’re thirteen, and we’re pooling our efforts for the presents, it’s not like you’ve got to get them anything huge. One thousand will be more than enough, especially since you spend even less than I do!”

“Stan, are you-- Are you suggesting I _embezzle_ your funds?” Ford asked. “That’s-- Stanley, I can’t do that. I _won’t_ do that.”

“What?” Stan asked, incredulous. “Sure you can, it’s easy! Besides, wasn’t it you who said somethin’ about pulling off a few crazy sci-fi heists? It’s just like that, except you already have the money. So you just take it and--”

“Stanley, I’m _not_ going to take money from you.” Ford said. “I feel like deadweight enough as it is, I don’t need to add thievery to the list of awful things I’ve done.”

“You’re not stealing. I know what stealing is. I am _giving_ you this money.” Stan said, crossing his arms.

“Listen, hon…” Fiddleford said, gently taking Stanford’s hand. “We ain’t gonna think any less of ya just ‘cause yer not ‘technically employed’. Stanley an’ I have both been jobless, homeless, and just about every other ‘less you can think of. It don’t mean we can’t do somethin’ _great_.” He said, giving Ford a wide, mostly toothless smile.

Ford returned the gesture with a soft, tiny smile of his own, and turned to Stanley. “...Then I suppose we have a deal.” He said, tentatively holding out his right hand, pushing down memories of the last deal he’d made.

“Nah,” Stan said, refusing Ford’s hand. Stanford’s heart sank, just a little bit, before Stanley continued, lifting one hand in the air.

“ _High six._ ” He said.

Ford stopped, a flood of old memories and emotions long buried coming back to the surface. Time was standing still, he knew better than anyone what the sensation felt like, _time was standing still, there was no other explanation_. Ford felt tears form in his eyes as he smiled too wide, so wide it was starting to hurt his jaw, he could practically smell the ocean, Glass Shard Beach, the school house’s linoleum floors. Stanford had never been happier to return a treasured high six, with more confidence than he’d had in a long time. It was decent, leaving a bit of a sting in Stanford’s hand afterward, but not so much that the moment was lost.

“ _High six._ ” Ford said, softly, so softly Stanley almost didn’t catch it, still reeling from… from the fact that it had actually been returned this time. That their old brotherly ritual had begun anew, that after all this time… after all this time things were on the up and up between the original set of Pines twins. He didn’t have much time to revel in that fact before Ford had wrapped him in a hug, squeezing too tight and resting his head on his shoulders.

Stanley hugged his brother back, hoping he hadn’t brought up something from the past that would upset Ford, being nostalgic felt like a game of roulette. Ford was clinging to him for dear life, a sign that at this point could mean anything from joy to one of Ford’s hellscape flashbacks. He hated not knowing more than anything, he hated that he’d been apart from Ford for so long that when Ford became his own person (as twins are wont to do), Stanley was _completely_ absent for every second of it. It was almost like he was dealing with someone entirety new.

The sound of Fiddleford’s slippers against the hardwood snapped Stanley out of his reverie. “Uh, what’s up with you?” He asked, taking in the sight of Fiddleford McGucket, performing one of his many jigs.

Ford pulled away from the hug, keeping one hand firmly on Stan’s shoulder and wiping a few stray tears from his eyes. “Even Fiddleford’s doing a happy jig.” He said, chuckling a little bit.

“Naw, this’un’s a jig of confusion. ‘Cause I’ve got no earthly idea what’s happenin’.” Fiddleford said, continuing his jig.

“Oh!” Ford said, his wide grin fading to a comfortable smile. “Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s… It’s a twin thing.” He said. “Something we haven’t shared in a long time.”

Fiddleford slowed his jig down and straightened his stance. “Ahh, I see, it’s a good thing.” He said. “That makes more sense.”

“Alright, nerds.” Stanley said. “Hanukkah’s in three weeks, we need to go get presents for the kids. Fiddleford, Stanford, load up, we’re goin’ to the mall.”

Ford froze, trying to hold onto the sheer joy he’d felt earlier, the realization that he and Stanley really _were_ making progress in mending their brotherhood, trying not to panic.

“Oh, and Fiddleford, you at least know the Hanukkah basics, right?” Stanley asked, grabbing his keys from the set of hooks by the door. “Eight days of presents, menorah and all that?”

“I’m not sure I know too much about it, but I’m willin’ to learn!” Fiddleford said. “I recall Stanford celebratin’ it, an’ I reckon I joined in, too. But the specifics are still a blur…” Fiddleford tugged at his beard. It had been a few days since he and Ford had done any work on recovering what few memories still laid just beyond his reach, Fiddleford hadn’t wanted to spend too much time in the basement thanks to Bill’s attack earlier in the week. Based on Ford's story, and a few resurfacing memories, he had a sneaking suspicion of what laid buried beneath all the tarps in Ford's study.

“Eh, that’s alright. I’m sure it’ll come back to ya.” Stanley said, opening the closet door and grabbing his coat. “Ford, you coming?”

Ford had moved near the back of the gift shop, close to the wall, forcing himself to stand up straight, one hand absentmindedly fidgeting with the scarf draped around his shoulders. “Uh-- That’s okay, I actually--” Ford shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts. _What is there to be scared of, really? Nothing paranormal is going to attack at the mall, and you’re capable of handling whatever anything else can attack you with anyways._ “...Alright. But, ah, I don’t have a coat.”

“Let’s look in my closet, I bet I have somethin’ that isn’t completely eaten up by moths for ya.” Stan said, placing an arm around Ford's shoulder, leading him out of the kitchen. “And _you're_ driving us today.”

“W-What? Stan, I don't think that--”

“Relax, you still remember the basics, right? I'll just fill you in on the rest.” Stan said. “You just need to get some confidence back.”

“I-if you insist… I suppose it can’t be too difficult. Major traffic laws haven’t changed too much, have they?”

“Nah, most of that stuff is still the same.” Stan said. “Not that I ever paid too much attention to traffic laws.” He shrugged, opening his closet and pulling about a few ratty coats.

“You’re sure you’re the most… qualified to teach me this?” Ford asked, inspecting the coats to see which one fit him best. They were all a little big, not that Ford felt he was in any position to be picky.

“Look, Ford, I taught a _bear_ to drive before. We'll be fine!” Stan said. “Try that grey coat, I think it’s the newest out of all of ‘em.”

“A bear?” Ford asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’m _impressed_ you managed to pull that off, but… _why_?” He said, reluctantly trying a grey, hooded jacket on for size.

“I thought it’d make for a good attraction.” Stan said, shrugging. “Turns out teaching bears to drive is ‘illegal’ and ‘dangerous’. Could’a made _millions_ if it hadn’t been for Blubbs and his boyfriend.”

“Are the sheriff and the deputy really…?” Ford asked, softly. “I’ve never met them, but… the last time I was here Gravity Falls didn’t exactly have a thriving gay community.” _Not that you’d know, you spent six years holed up in your house out in the woods._

“Yeah they're regular lovebirds.” Stan said, chuckling a bit. “I swear last week I saw them sharin’ the same ice cream cone. Once they came out, people really started warmin’ up around here.”

“Hm…” Ford went quiet, his face pensive as he gave himself a once over. “I think this will do for now, until I can get the funds to buy a new one… Thank you, for letting me borrow it.”

“Sure, you can keep it. I don’t ever wear it. I get myself new-- or, old I guess, coats from the thrift store every year but I always end up wearin’ my old one.” Stan said, shrugging. “...Always felt more like home, you know?”

“Th-thank you, Stanley.” Ford said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his new-used coat. “I suppose we’ll be headed out, then?” He asked, fidgeting with his hands and marveling at how… empty a coat felt when it wasn’t weighted down with weaponry and journals and scraps of food.

“Yeah, if you’re ready. Are you sure that you like that coat…?” Stan asked, scratching the back of his head. “It’s just a hoodie, not exactly your style, if you want me to get you a different one I can.”

“No, no, this is fine, Stanley. Thank you.” Ford said. “Really, I don’t particularly have much of a style anymore.”

Stanley couldn’t help but gasp. “No, that’s gonna change. Every man’s got his own style.” Stan said. “We’ll fix that today if we can. You don’t have to worry about being attached to your old coat anymore, so no excuses.”

“What? No, no today’s about getting the kids Hanukkah presents.” Ford said. “I’ll be fine, it’s alright.”

“We have time for both, trust me. Listen, if there’s one useful thing I learned over the years it’s that every man needs his own style. His own suit. We’ll make time, okay?” Stan said, putting a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “Now take my keys and go start the car.” Stan said, placing the keys in Ford’s hands.

Ford nodded, knitting his brow, and made his way to the car. “Is it even _legal_ for me to dri-- You don’t care. Do you.” Ford asked, noting the exasperated look on Stan’s face.

“You’re not getting out of this.” Stan huffed. “Besides, I thought you liked learning new things?”

“Stan, you don’t exactly have the best track record.” Ford said. “...But I suppose it _is_ important. And still, likely safer than if you were behind the wheel.”

“Hey now, I’m an excellent driver.” Stan said, crossing his arms.

“If I had to list everything you’ve hit with your car in the past three weeks alone, we’d never leave the Shack again.” Ford said. “...Let’s go.”

Stan gave Ford a playful shove out of the door and chuckled. “This’ll be a blast. I actually kinda want to see what you’ve been thinking of getting the kids.”

“Well… there’s an old invention of mine that Dipper might like.” Ford mused. “And I think we _all_ know what Mabel would like.”

“Are you gonna get anything for your hillbilly boyfriend? I was thinking of getting him a proper tool kit. One I could borrow and use around the shack.”

“Of course I’m going to get him a-- Of course I’m getting him something. I just… don’t know what. And I can’t exactly get it for him if he’s coming with us.” Ford said. “...So I suppose it is a good thing I’m re-learning how to drive today.”

“See? I told you! I’m full of good ideas.” Stan laughed as they rejoined Fiddleford, who had sat down on the floor, absentmindedly petting Waddles and telling him the punchline of a joke he heard once. “Fidds, you ready?”

“I reckon I am.” Fiddleford said, standing up and waving to Waddles. “Be good while we’re gone, now.”

“Were… were you just talking to the pig?” Ford asked, fascinated. “Like, actually communicating with him?”

“Well-- I suppose. I was just chit chattin’ to keep myself busy.” Fiddleford began, a little embarrassed, his face flushing red. “But Waddles, there, he’s a smart critter, he listens.” Fiddleford said. “Unlike a certain raccoon I know.”

“Fiddleford, are you still… speaking with your ex-raccoon-wife?” Ford asked, raising an eyebrow.

“She comes to the porch lookin’ for food, I can’t let her starve!” Fiddleford said. “She kept me company when no one else would. It got real lonely in the junkyard, ya know?”

“...I do.” Ford said, quietly, before opening the door, heading outside into the frigid winter air. “Let’s get going, shall we?”

“Yeah, let’s go.” Stan said, walking out the door, Fiddleford following close behind.

Ford paused, pulling Stan’s coat closer to himself, trying to ward off the cold. He let out a tiny sigh as his hands brushed against the glittery scarf around his neck. “...Actually, I'll meet you back outside. There's something I need to do first. I'll only be a few seconds.” Ford said, ducking back inside the Shack, carefully reaching up to grab the scarf around his neck.

Slowly, as if moving too quickly would undo Mabel’s handiwork, Ford set the scarf on a nearby end table, next to a poorly taxidermied fake dodo bird. _I suppose… I don’t really need it after all._ He thought, allowing himself a small smile as he walked back outside.

“Alright, poindexter, start the car, it’s freezing out here.” Stanley huffed, one hand on the passenger door. Fiddleford stood nearby, not seeming to mind the cold as much as Stan did.

“Oh, sorry.” Ford said, unlocking the car door and climbing into the driver’s seat, waiting for Fiddleford and Stanley to get seated before starting the car.

“First thing’s first, Ford.” Stan said, rubbing his hands together to warm them up. “Buckle your seatbelt.”

“What?” Ford said. “Is it really that big a deal, Stan?”

“Yeah, they really tightened the reigns on that one.” Stan said. “Now, once you get onto the main road, the speed limit’s about forty-five.”

“I thought the speed limit was thirty-five?” Ford asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Same difference. My point is, actually try to go at the speed limit, okay? You drive like an old man.” Stan said, putting his feet up on the dash.

“Stanley, we’re _both_ fifty-seven. We _are_ old men.” Ford said, rolling his eyes. “And you’ll have to forgive me, I’d rather not scuff up your car any more than it already is, or worse, get someone _hurt_.”

“Eh, we’ll be fine! I’ve never gotten anyone hurt with my car, it’s fine. Just a stray animal or two.” Stan said.

“Roadkill’s actually pretty good if ya get to it before it starts ta rot.” Fiddleford mused from the back seat.

“Not really.” Both Stanley and Stanford said, in unison.

“Eating roadkill was probably the most dangerous and stupid thing I’ve ever done.” Stanley huffed. “And that’s sayin’ something.”

“I can honestly say that no matter what dimension it’s from, roadkill _always_ tastes terrible.” Ford said, frowning.

“And you've eaten rocks!” Stan said.

“For the last time, I _tasted_ a rock I did not _eat_ a rock.” Ford huffed. “But yes, I've eaten some strange and terrible things in my time, and roadkill is by far the worst.”

Stan smiled, thankful that he and Ford could share something, even if it was unpleasant. “Now, just back out of the driveway and turn left.” He said.

Ford carefully backed out of the driveway, too used to driving alien military starships to trust himself going any faster than a snail's pace.

“Ford, backing out shouldn’t take you over _three minutes_. Driving too slow can be a hazard too, ya know. Like a turtle stuck in the middle of the highway.”

“If I _need_ to I'm more than capable of getting your car out of harm's way.” Ford said. “I'm not going to rush head first into this, the last time I drove _anything_ it had a laser cannon attached to it.”

“I tried installing one of those, but it wasn’t street legal.” Stan said sarcastically.

“Of course not, laser weaponry is for strictly military purposes, my weapons down in the basement are technically illegal.” Ford said, not picking up on the joke.

“I was kidding, Ford. I don’t think those even existed in this universe until you came back.” Stan said as Ford _finally_ pulled out of the driveway, heading down the dirt road towards the kid's bus stop and turning left, picking up the pace to a steady twenty miles an hour.

“Is that better, at least?” Ford said.

“Ford, the speed here is forty-five.” Stan said, getting a little exasperated but doing his best to not let it show. “Just speed up a little bit, you're not going to hit anything. Promise. You’re really doing great.”

Ford gave Stan a tiny, appreciative smile, before accelerating to forty-five on the dot. The increase in speed made the hair on the back of Ford's neck stand on end and his knuckles go white around the steering wheel, and he was driving too close to the shoulder of the road for Stan's liking.

“You can go slower if you want to, Ford. The general rule is no less than ten under the limit.” Stan said.

“Oh, s-sorry…” Ford said, gently easing up on the gas.

“Just, relax. Take it easy, focus on the road.” Stan said.

“This is a lot smoother of a ride than when Stanley's the one drivin’.” Fiddleford said. “Yer a right natural at this, Ford!”

“Thank you, Fidds.” Ford glanced in the rearview mirror with a crooked smile. “...I think I'm starting to get the hang of this again.” He mused, right as an angry truck driver passed them, honking loudly and startling Ford, making him jump in his seat.

Stan rolled his window down promptly to shout various obscenities, shaking his fist at the truck driver.

“...Stan, I'm not a child, you don't have to do that.” Ford said, quietly.

“He was driving like an asshole, and that’s coming from me.” Stan said, throwing his arms up. _Besides that, he messed with my brother._ He kept the thought to himself, knowing that mentioning it could make Ford feel worse. Stan sighed. “...Alright, there are two ways to get to the mall. The highway and the back roads. The back roads are slower, but the highway is sixty miles per hour.”

“Can we please take the back roads?” Ford said, his heart still racing. “I'm not sure I'm quite ready to drive on a highway just yet. I mean I _could_ if we have to, but…”

“Back roads it is.” Stan said. “Just keep going straight, don’t get off at any exits, take it easy. Do you wanna turn on the radio or something?”

“Uh-- W-well, that is--” Ford stammered, remembering Halloween, remembering that new ways to panic could show themselves at any moment, that an unfamiliar song had made him panic before and there was no reason why it couldn’t again.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Sometimes it helps me relax.” Stan said, leaning back in the passenger seat.

“Yeah, Stanford, just do what makes ya comfortable, dear.” Fiddleford said, leaning one arm against the console, stretching the seatbelt as far as it would go.

“What station did you have in mind?” Ford asked. He had to prove to Stanley and Fiddleford that he was really okay, that he _could be okay_. Even though he really… really wasn’t.

“98.7 K-O-L-D plays good stuff from the seventies, none of that hip-hop, boy band nonsense kids listen to nowadays, with the uncomfortable dance moves.” Stan said.

“Now, Stanley, you really ought ‘a give Sev’rl Timez a try.” Fiddleford said, smiling wide. “Fer a newfangled musicy group they’re really somethin’! Their dance moves are pretty nifty.”

“Turn the radio to whatever you want.” Ford said, quietly, drumming his fingers on the side of the steering wheel.

Stan shrugged and switched the radio on. When it didn’t produce sound, Stan slammed his fist on the dashboard until the radio began blaring an old Elton John song, an upbeat tune that Ford had to take a second to place.

“Bennie and the Jets?” Ford asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah! I have no idea what this song is about, but damn is it catchy.” Stanley said, tapping his foot to the beat.

Fiddleford hummed in the backseat, keeping an eye on Ford to gauge his level of anxiety, ready to comfort him with a reassuring hand if necessary. Ford had been faring so well without his coat, but Fiddleford couldn’t help but think in the back of his mind, _it’s only a matter of time before something bad happens again. Before he panics again. There’s gotta be somethin’ I can do to help ‘im…_

Ford glanced in the rearview mirror, catching Fiddleford’s eyes for a second, catching the concern on his face. Ford let out a tiny sigh, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “...So just keep going straight?” He asked, keeping his eyes trained on the road, away from Stan and Fiddleford.

“Yeah, it’s a straight shot from here. You’re doin’ great.” Stan said, placing a hand on Ford’s shoulder.

Ford nodded, gripping the wheel tighter, to the point where his knuckles were white. “Alright.”

“You doin’ alright, Ford?” Stan asked.

“ _I’m fine._ ” Ford said through gritted teeth.

“Are ya sure, dear? We can pull over if you need to.” Fiddleford said.

“I said I’m fine.” Ford said, taking a deep breath. “It’s fine, everything’s _fine_.”  He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, before pulling over on the side of the road. “I’m alright, everything’s okay.”

Fiddleford gripped the edge of his seat and stammered, “Y-you sure, darlin’? You don’ have to sugarcoat nothin’ fer us.”

Ford brought the car to a halt, turning to face Stanley and Fiddleford. “You don’t have to treat me like I’m so _fragile_.” He said. “I was actually doing _great_ this morning, I had fun making breakfast for everyone, but when you treat me like _this_ I feel even worse, like maybe I really will panic and drag everyone else down with me! It’s... unsettling, to say the least.”

“Ford, we don’t mean to come off that way, really. We’re just worried about you.” Stan said.

“I know you are, _I know_.” Ford said. “I appreciate that you all care about me enough to want me to be okay, I really do. But you have to understand, I worry about _you_ , too.”

“W-we’ll try to tone it down. I’m sorry, Ford.” Stanley put a hand on Ford’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.

Ford sighed, leaning back in his seat. “It’s not just you… I’m not used to people caring about me. And I know you’re just trying to help but I feel like I’m backed into a corner here…”

“We aren’t tryin’ to… Okay. I’m sorry, Ford. We’ll lighten up.” Fiddleford said.

“It’s alright.” Ford said. “Really, it’s alright… I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, you just have to trust me.”

Fiddleford leaned out of his seat to place a hand in Ford’s lap. “We trust you, Stanford.” He said. “You made it this far, you’ve been takin’ care of yerself fer a while now. I reckon Stan and I just… wanna help ya out the rest of the way.”

“Thank you.” Ford said, quietly. “And… I’m sorry for causing so much trouble.”

“No trouble at all. Do you want to keep driving, or do you want me to take the wheel?” Stan said. “I can get us there a little quicker.”

“I think I’d prefer to keep driving.” Ford said, smiling a bit as he pulled back onto the road. “I made it this far, right?”

“That’s the spirit!” Stan said, smiling wide and leaning back in the car seat.

The mall wasn’t terribly crowded, school was still in session and the only other patrons were other adults, with the occasional group of kids skipping school dotting the thin crowd. Ford seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when he noticed the lack of people, standing up a little straighter, walking with a little more confidence.

Stan took out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, a hastily written list, and looked over it carefully. “I’ve been tryin’ to take notes on what the kids want without having to ask them.” He said. “Mabel’s been really into girly craft junk as usual… and all I have written down for Dipper is _books_.”

“Mabel usually knits, but she dabbles in other crafts as well. She likes the type of clay that doesn’t dry out the best.” Ford said. “Dipper likes those, uh, Sibling Brothers books. But I think I’ve got a few ideas for some gifts I think he’ll _really_ like.”

“Wow Ford, you really know your stuff.” Stan said. “I’m glad you decided to come along, I don’t think I could do this without your help.”

Ford was taken aback, genuinely surprised that Stan appreciated his help. “R-Really? Oh, thank you.”

“You’re so good with the kiddos, Stanford.” Fiddleford said, taking Ford’s hand to hold as Stan edited his shopping list.

“Huh?” Ford smiled as Fiddleford took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Not particularly, it’s just simple observation. Dipper doesn’t hide what he likes to read, and Mabel has enough craft supplies to open a store with.”

Fiddleford frowned, squeezing Ford’s hand. “I wish I were as close with Tate as you are with the kids.”

“...Dipper, Mabel, and I aren’t that close. We’ve only known each other for about three months now.” Ford said.

“And you already know so much about them, you spend so much time with them. I want to be close with Tate like that, but I don’t wanna interfere…” Fiddleford said, frowning.

“You can still be close with Tate,” Ford said. “You’ve got plenty of time left, I’m sure he wants to reconnect just as much as you do.”

“I’m not so sure.” Fiddleford sighed. “I suppose I could make more of an effort.”

“Fiddleford-- you _are_ making an effort.” Ford sighed, loosening his grip on Fiddleford’s hand just a bit. “You could have spent the whole day with Tate if it hadn’t been for me. Don’t beat yourself up about spending time with him, you’re doing a great job.”

Fiddleford pulled his hand away gently and used it to tug on his beard, which had grown out since he last got it cut. “Don’t you go beatin’ yerself up about yesterday either. Okay?”

“C’mon you two, I wanna get in and out of the toy store as quickly as possible.” Stan called, already walking a few feet ahead of them. “If I have to listen to _It’s a Small World After All_ for more than thirty seconds I’m blaming you guys!”

Stan wound up listening to _It’s a Small World After All_ on loop for about ten minutes, but the trio managed to find gifts for each of their niblings, as well as a semi-new wardrobe for Stanford. By the time they pulled back up to the Mystery Shack, they were all exhausted. Stan, much to Ford’s protest, carried in the shopping bags in himself.

“Sweet Moses!” Stan yelled as he tripped over a box sitting on the porch, barely catching himself from falling on the doorway. “What the heck is this?”

“Well, Stan, it looks like a package.” Ford deadpanned. “Must have been delivered while we were at the mall.”

“I hate when they just leave ‘em on the porch!” Stan grumbled.

“Well it’s better than breaking into the house.” Ford said. “Or having to go back to the post office to pick up the package.”

“Get it off the porch, will ya? I didn’t even order anything. So it’s probably yours anyways, don’t you two have computer parts on the way?” Stan huffed, walking inside.

Ford and Fiddleford shrugged at each other and checked the address on the package. “...Stan?” Ford called, his eyes wide as he gently lifted the box. “Stan this box is from Sherry.”

“Alexandria’s aunt?” Stan asked. “The one who’s taking care of their old house?”

“Yes… It must be for the kids.” Ford said, carrying the box in and carefully setting it down in the living room.

“It’s addressed to you, Stanford. Or maybe she meant Stanley?” Fiddleford said, peering at the label. “It just says ‘Stan Pines’ on the box.”

“Just open it then!” Stan called, shoving the presents in a closet in the hall and locking it. “I'm not going to yell at you for opening the damn mail.”

Ford sighed and gently ripped the tape away from the box, afraid to break anything that might be inside. Inside were VHS tapes, at least twenty of them, all marked in neat handwriting. _1st Birthday, First Day Of Kindergarten, Bath Time, Twins Being Cute pt 7_. Attached to one of the tapes was a note, reading “ _I found these in the attic, and thought the kids might like to have them. Happy Hanukkah, from Sherry”_

“My god… Stan! Come look at this!” Ford called.

Fiddleford grinned and picked up a few of the tapes to examine them. “Home movies! They must be of the youngin’s!”

“Fidds, show me how to work the VHS player again. I need to see these.”

“Yes! Bring that there box into the living room and I'll see what I can do!” Fiddleford said, taking a tape marked _Dipper and Mabel: August 31, 1999._

“Well wait a minute!” Stan called. “Why don't we wait for the kids to get home? So we can all watch them together?”

“Stan, I've never seen these. I've never known them as babies.” Ford said. “I… I wasn't around for that.”

“What, like I was there every second? Look… the kids are going to want to see these too. They'll be home in an hour, we might as well wait.” Stan said.

“I… Guess you have a point.” Ford said, setting down the box of tapes, trying to figure out what he should have for an afternoon snack, before his head snapped up in realization. “ _I told Riley I’d be back in a few minutes. She’s still running around in the basement all day.”_ He said, before running off towards the gift shop.

“Do I need to call can exorcist?” Stan called, half serious.

“No, it’s fine! She’s probably just bored-- _OH GOD THE RIFT._ Wait, no she’s intangible but I put wards around the rift, she can’t touch it.” Ford called before slipping past the vending machine and into the basement.

Riley swirled around Ford’s blackboard, keeping a tally of all of the laps she could do around the basement. “Okay… that’s 287. Aaannnd I’m still bored.” They paused, tapping their chin with the chalk she’d managed to pick up. “I guess I could look around for some of Dr. Pines’ multiverse notes? Those are _bound_ to be interesting. _But_ he might also exorcise me for that. So I probably shouldn't? I wonder if, if I ask nicely enough, he’ll get me an audiobook or something.”

“Riley, stop whatever you’re doing!” Ford yelled, forcing his way through the elevator door before it could open all the way.

Riley turned around to stare at Ford, dropping the chalk and floating away from the chalkboard. “You’ve been gone for _waaaay_ more than five minutes.”

“I got distracted okay?! Hanukkah’s coming up and my brother and my boyfriend were breathing down my neck and then I applied for a job and I had to drive to the mall and I’ve had a _very_ stressful week so if you could. _Please._ Just… tell me you didn’t break anything while I was gone.” Ford said.

“No! I’m not clumsy. I’ve just been making laps. You gotta at least leave a radio down here for me next time. I’m a teenager, I’m used to overstimulation and cell phones and internet access.” Riley said. “Oh! I figured out how to pick up chalk!” She said with pride. The blackboard was filled with tally lines and little stick figure drawings, every space on the board was filled. “It’s a little bit different than holding the dice all the time, it took me a couple of tries to get it right.”

“About how long would you say?” Ford asked, picking up a pen. “As long as it took you with the dice?”

“Well… it took me a few weeks to pick up the dice.” Riley said, shrugging. “But only about an hour to figure out chalk.”

“You’re getting more powerful, it’s a slight change, but an important one.” Ford said. “At this distance, with your haunt confined to those dice, you shouldn’t be able to lift anything at all.” _My earlier assessment is likely a severe miscalculation, she’s getting too powerful too quickly and too far away from her haunt._ Ford didn’t voice his thoughts, if he kept them private Riley might not get any funny ideas about betrayal. He… He didn’t quite trust her yet.

“Damn! That’s pretty cool!” Riley said. “So when this science weirdness works that means that Sherman and Alexandria will be able to move stuff too? Probably?”

“I’m not even sure how to get them here yet. One step at a time.” Ford said. “But… I appreciate that you're thinking that far ahead. Now let me set up a salt circle. I can rewire the radio down here to pick up a decent station for you.” Ford said, gesturing towards the console at the end of the room. “What do teenagers like to listen to these days?”

“I’ll listen to anything at this point. I like alternative music? And classical music is nice too. I’d even listen to talk radio

“I know 98.7 KOLD. Anything else we'll just have to browse for.” Ford said. “Though with enough time I could probably pick up some multidimensional broadcasts.”

“Honestly, anything would be a blessing.” Riley hovered over Ford, interested in how he would hook up the radio.

It wasn't long before Ford had tuned in to the classic radio station, music filtering in through a tiny ancient speaker on one end of the console, right next to a live video feed of the back porch.

“Ahh, music to my ears! Thank you, Dr. Pines.” Riley said, leaning back in the air. “Honestly, this place gets kinda spooky when there's nothing to listen to. Which is ironic considering the fact that I'm a ghost.”

Ford frowned, looking away, remembering the long, paranoid and sleepless nights he'd spent down in the basement, after Bill's betrayal. Remembering the ways the white noise of the portal, the sound of the empty basement would ripple and morph until he wasn't sure if what he was hearing was real anymore. Sometimes it was as innocuous as radio static on a low volume, playing over and over in the back of his mind but unable to actually make out what the hallucination was saying. More often than not he would swear that he had heard _Bill's_ voice, laughing from some corner of the room or whispering something about the portal in his ear. It frustrated him to no end, though he hadn't experienced the sensation in years… Before yesterday, at least. _You were sleep deprived then, you're not relapsing again. You're **fine.**_

Ford wordlessly set to making another salt circle, this one with enough room for Riley to reasonably move around in, but far away from any equipment she could use for destructive purposes. “This should be enough room for you. That will be all for today.”

“Oh… well, okay.” Riley said, floating away from Ford. “I’ll be here if you need me!”

“Hm.” Ford hummed in response, leaving the room and tapping his foot as he waited for the elevator doors to close. _Well at least she didn’t touch anything._ He sighed, leaning up against the wall of the elevator. As Ford emerged from behind the vending machine, Dipper and Mabel burst in through the door, their welcomingly cheerful voices ringing out through the gift shop.

“Grunkle Ford!” Dipper and Mabel exclaimed.

“We brought you a Smez dispenser!” Mabel said, pulling a rabbit shaped Smez dispenser from her backpack. “Some weird smelly kid sells them in the girl’s bathrooms illegally!”

“Mabel, I appreciate you buying illegal contraband for me. But please don’t talk to that child anymore.” Ford said. “....Are the Smez the pink kind? Those are the best ones.”

“Of course they’re the pink kind!” Mabel said, handing the Smez dispenser over.

“Thank you, Mabel. These are my favorite candies in the whole multiverse!” Ford said, smiling wide and putting a hand on her shoulder. “You know I had a few Smez dispensers back in the day. They might still be in the bunker but if they were around the house, Stan’s probably thrown them out by now.”

“I can get you more if that’s what you want, Grunkle Ford!” Mabel said, hopeful that Smez might be a magic cure for what was going through Ford’s head.

“Hm? Oh, no dear, you don’t have to. I appreciate the gift, though.” Ford said, opening the Smez dispenser and taking a candy. “Would either of you like a piece?”

Mabel held her hand out for one, and Dipper shook his head. “Gre-- Grunkle Ford, are you okay?”

“Wh-- Of course I am, Dipper.” Ford frowned, handing a piece of candy to Mabel. “Why would you think that I wasn’t?”

Mabel and Dipper shared a look, and Mabel nodded, leaving the room with a wave. “I’m gonna get a snack and start on my homework!” She said.

“W-What’s going on, Dipper? Why did Mabel leave so suddenly?” Ford asked, his eyes wide.

“Mabel and I are worried about you… Maybe I’m a little _more_ worried.” Dipper said, shuffling his feet. “She thinks that this is all going to work itself out and it’s _not_.”

“Dipper…” Ford set the Smez dispenser down on the cash register. “What exactly are you worried about? I can assure you that I’m fine, that everything’s fine.”

‘’What are you going to do about the portal?” Dipper asked, shuffling his feet, worry evident in his eyes.

“The portal? The portal is dismantled, Dipper. Nothing’s going to get through, there’s nothing to--”

“No, no, I meant the _other side_ of the portal. I’ve-- I’ve been trying to think of a solution all day but there’s no one for you to talk to about it. I mean there’s Multibear and he’s always helped me but you don’t trust him, plus he doesn’t always _get_ humans. And I guess Jeff the Gnome is okay but he’s got his own issues and he keeps trying to kidnap Mabel? And--”

“Dipper.” Ford said, kneeling down to Dipper’s level. _This is exactly why I told him that he and the family should stay away from this subject._ “That stuff is for _me_ to figure out. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“But--”

“Did I say ‘don’t have to’? I meant you are forbidden from worrying about. It isn’t your duty to find me a therapist.” Ford said, pulling Dipper into a hug. “I’m going to be _fine_. I’m not going anywhere.”

Dipper wrapped his tiny arms around Ford, gripping onto his sweater. “You don’t know that. A-Anything could happen, and y-you’re… you’re getting old…” He said, quietly.

“Hey now!” Ford said, pulling away slightly to look at Dipper. “I am not going anywhere. Nothing bad is going to happen to me, or to Stan or to Fiddleford.”

“But _anything_ bad could happen!” Dipper said. “Th-there was that tree and then Bill showed up or Riley could go rogue and--”

“Dipper. Does having Riley in the basement make you worry?” Ford asked. “Because if it does I’ll go down there right now and exorcise her.”

“Well… no, not really. She’s too incompetent to be a real threat, but.... It’s still a possibility!” Dipper said. “Your n-notes on the multiverse were _terrifying_ , Fiddleford spent a few seconds on the other side and wiped his memory. You spent _thirty years_ over there.”

“...Dipper, it wasn’t all bad.” Ford said. “Some of the places I’ve seen are absolutely breathtaking. There’s a dimension where the sand on the beaches glows in the dark, there are thousands of different colors and you can even see the glow from the sand at the bottom of the ocean. It was beautiful, like galaxies. Heck, I’ve even crossed galaxies! How many humans do you know who can say that? I have just as many nice memories as I do awful ones. It wasn’t…. a completely negative experience. I am going to be just fine, and you know why?”

Dipper shook his head softly.

“Because I have you. And your sister, and Stan, and Fiddleford.” Ford said, smiling. “And that’s… more than I’ve had in a long time.”

Dipper couldn't help but crack a tiny crooked smile, hugging Ford tight. “So I guess Mabel was right then?”

“Yes, she was.” Ford stood back up and ruffled Dipper’s hair. “You know… We got a package in the mail from your Great Aunt Sherry today. She sent you and Mabel some home movies. Turns out we didn’t quite get everything when we were packing.”

“Home movies! I wonder if she included the ones I made with Dad’s camera!” Dipper said. “Can… can we watch them?”

“Yes! We were waiting for the both of you to get home so we could watch them all together. Get Mabel and we’ll watch a few!” Ford said, his face lit up like a Christmas tree.

Dipper ran out of the room, calling excitedly “Mabel! Get in the living room! Bring snacks!”

“I’m already in the living room, bro bro! We got a package in the mail!” Mabel called, sorting through the box of home movies while Fiddleford hooked up the VCR.

Dipper sat next to Mabel and Waddles on the floor, looking through the box of labeled tapes. “Which one should we watch first? Mabel’s Dance Recital?” He asked. “Or First Halloween?”

“Look! First Day of Kindergarten!” Mabel said, holding the tape up. “I wanna see this one first!”

“Alright kids, we have time to watch a few of them. We can see this one first.” Ford said, gently taking the tape from Mabel. “Now, let me see if I remember how to do this correctly.” He said, putting the tape in the VCR… upside down. And in the wrong direction.

“Dear, let me help you.” Fiddleford said, flipping the tape around. “You put it in this way, the label should be facing you.” Fiddleford placed it in the correct way. “It’s rewinded already, so just push the play button.”

“It can’t read the tape regardless of which way you put it in?” Ford asked, raising an eyebrow and pressing play. “I forgot how archaic these things were.”

“Grunkle Ford, DVD’s are like that too.” Dipper pointed out.

“What? Really? No wonder I can never get those things to work.” Ford grumbled.

“Yes, really.” Fiddleford chortled.

“I’ll have to fix that. Don’t worry, we’ll have reasonably working DVD players and VCR’s by the end of the week.” Ford said as the TV began to play the video

The video started with the twins, aged five, sitting at their kitchen table and eating breakfast. Alexandria stood in the background, making coffee in her pajamas.

 _“Alright,_ ” _Sherman’s voice came from behind the camera. “It is September 1, 2004 and it’s Dipper and Mabel’s first day of kindergarten!”_

_“Dad, can I stay home with mom today?” Dipper asked, his little nose was red from crying._

“ _No, lamby, Mommy’s got an appointment with a client and you’ve got school. It’s your big day, aren’t you excited?”_

_“No!” Dipper exclaimed, pushing his breakfast away from himself. Mabel promptly began eating off of his plate._

_“I am! We’re going to get to eat cafeteria food!” She said, smiling and showing off her crooked teeth._

“Eugh, I forgot what I looked like before braces.” Mabel said, sticking out her tongue. “I guess they’re worth something after all.”

“Wow, was I really that much of a crybaby?” Dipper said, crossing his arms.

“Dipper, you’re what, five in this?” Ford said. “There’s nothing wrong with crying on your first day of school--”

“Yeah, Poindexter did the same thing.” Stan interrupted. “Now shush, I wanna see what happens.”

_“Dipper, remember when we went to the school to look around? Remember what they have there that you like?” Alexandria kneeled down next to his booster seat at the table, smiling._

_“The librarby!” Dipper gasped._

_“Li **brar** y.” Alexandria corrected. _

_“Li-brar-y.” Dipper repeated._

_“That’s right, lamby. You can’t see the library without going to school!” Alexandria said, smiling at Dipper and pushing his plate back towards her son._

_“They won’t be able to go to school if we don’t get going, dear.” Sherman said, turning the camera towards the clock._

_“Okay, you get their lunches, I’ll get them dressed.”_ Alexandria leaned behind the camera to give Sherman a kiss.

_“EEEW!” The twins said in unison._

_“Seriously? Take me to school please.” Dipper folded his arms, turning up his nose._

“Good to know you had your sarcasm from a young age.” Ford joked, ruffling Dipper’s hair.

Dipper laughed, leaning on Mabel. “I remember that day. I stayed in the library too long and our teacher thought I got lost.”

“And I learned that cafeteria food isn’t as good as it looks.” Mabel said.

Stan smiled and took the tape out. “You kids want to watch another one?” He asked.

“Yeah! Let’s watch my dance recital!” Mabel said, grabbing the tape and handing it to Stan.

“Wait, is that _the recital?_ From first grade?” Dipper asked, glaring at the TV.

“I dunno.” Mabel shrugged. “But that one’s got me in it! So I want to watch it. We won’t know until we watch it.”

“What happened in first grade?” Ford asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s when the lamby dance started.” Dipper said, quietly. Ford slowly put an arm around his shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

_The tape began, with a few kids standing in a row onstage, Mabel standing out from all of them. She had her hair in pigtails with a big pink ribbon, and a tutu fluffier than the rest. The music started up, Disco Girl, by BABBA. The kids began doing simple dance steps, most of them off beat. Mabel started quite late, and sang along to the song loudly, moving her arms in big circles as she twirled around in a set of dance moves she’d come up with herself._

_“Well she’s certainly original.” Alexandria commented from off-camera, applauding._

_The song ended, and Dipper shuffled onstage in his lamb costume, followed by a few little girls in bo-peep dresses._

Ford pulled Dipper a little closer, realizing that this was, in fact, the first time Dipper had ever performed the lamby dance.

_“Wh-Who wants a l-l-lamby--” Dipper took one look at the crowd and fell silent, overcome with stage fright. He froze in place, the other kids around him stopping to stare. Dipper’s eyes quickly welled up with tears and he began to sniffle._

_Mabel quickly ran in from offstage, still in her tutu and dragging Dipper’s poor understudy by the hand, who wasn’t even in costume. She grabbed Dipper by the hand, walking off and yelling “OKAY CONTINUE!”_

_“...I’m going back there.” Sherman and Alexandria said, simultaneously._ The camera cut to static.

“Mom used to call me lamby all the time…” Dipper said, quietly, leaning against Ford. “...So she made me sign up for that dance class when she heard they were doing a lamby dance.”

“You did it so good at home! You practiced every day! You just got stage fright, it’s okay.” Mabel said, patting Dipper’s shoulder. “I didn’t even do the right moves!”

“...I know.” Dipper said, quietly.

“We don’t have to keep watching these if it’s going to make you upset, Dipper.” Ford said.

“We can do somethin’ else. I thought yer fancy dancin’ moves were neat!” Fiddleford said. “Y’all had a real hootenanny if ya ask me!”

Dipper took a deep breath, and sat up a little straighter. “I’ll be okay. Can we watch can embarrassing one of Mabel now?”

“Try me! There are no embarrassing videos of me!” Mabel said, puffing out her chest, smiling when Waddles walked over to where she was sitting, climbing into her lap. “See? Waddles agrees, don’t you?”

“Uh, what’s this one labelled… _Mabel’s Braces_?” Stan asked, adjusting his glasses.

“That’ll do!” Dipper said, grinning evilly.

“No!” Mabel gasped, putting her hands up over her mouth.

“Oh come on, Mabel. Fair’s fair.” Ford said. “It can’t be that bad, it’s just braces. Stanley, put the tape in.”

_The tape began with Mabel, ten years old, in the car with Sherman and Alexandria. Dipper sat next to her, his hands over his ears. Mabel? Mabel was screaming her little head off._

_“Shhh, Mabel, You’re okay!” Sherman said from behind the camera, in the passenger seat. “I know it hurts, pumpkin, but the braces are to correct your overbite and later, when you need to get your wisdom teeth taken out, they won’t bunch up your teeth.”_

_“BUT I LIKE THE WAY MY MOUTH LOOKS!” Mabel screamed. “THIS HURTS AND I DON’T EVEN GET TO EAT CANDY?”_

“If only.” Stan chuckled. “You’ll eat pretty much anything with sugar.”

_“Now, now, Mabel, your orthodontist said you can eat candy **sparingly**. It’s not all bad!” Alexandria said from the driver’s seat._

_“YES IT IS. IT’S LIKE MY WHOLE MOUTH HATES ME NOW.” Mabel screamed._

“Do they really hurt that badly?” Ford asked.

“Yes.” Dipper and Mabel replied in unison.

_“Let me try, dear.” Sherman said from behind the camera. “Mabel, how would you like it if we went to get you some ice cream?”_

_“Ice cream!” Mabel said, smiling happily. “Yes please!”_

“Wow. Bribing with sugar. I’ll have to remember that.” Stan said, grinning.

“I want to see this one.” Ford said, holding a tape marked “ _Twins Being Born_ ” _._

“Ew! I don’t wanna see myself get born!” Mabel protested.

“I don’t think they’ll have let your father in the actual room while it was happening.” Ford said.

“No, nowadays, they do.” Stan said. “Sherman probably caught the whole thing, unless Alexandria had somethin’ to say about it.”

“...Can we watch it anyways? We’ll just fast forward past anything like that.” Ford said. “To their first moments in the world.”

“Yeah, I guess, if you wanna be mushy about it.” Stan said.

Ford rolled his eyes as he put the tape in.

_Alexandria sat in a hospital bed, her face red, her hair messy and sweaty._

_“Are you alright?” Sherman asked from behind the camera._

“ _Sherman Pines, you did this to me. Turn off that damn camera and get a nurse I want my **goddamn epidural!** ”_

 The camera cut to static, before the picture came back on, to Alexandria during her final contractions.

_“Okay, you’re doing great. Here comes the first one! Deep breaths, and push!” The doctor, a tall woman in her late thirties, only a few years older than Alexandria herself, said. After a grunt from Alexandria, a sharp cry was heard, vigorous and wailing. The doctor took a small, wriggling baby in her arms, handing the newborn off to a nurse so she could get ready for the next one._

_“Ow!” The nurse cried, moments later. Sherman turned the camera to the nurse, following her every move._

_“What’s wrong, what happened?” He asked._

_“It’s a girl, she’s healthy, but she punched me in the jaw!” The nurse said. Alexandria screamed again, signaling the birth of the younger twin._

_“Nurse, get over here! There’s a situation!” The doctor said. The camera briefly turned towards the doctor, before cutting to a few minutes later._

“What was that?” Ford asked. Dipper shifted in his seat.

“...When Dipper was born, his face was blue. The umbilical cord must have been wrapped around his neck or something.” Stan said, quietly.

“Mom and Dad never told me…” Dipper said. “...Grunkle Stan did over the summer. I don’t… I don’t know why they wouldn’t just _tell me._ ”

Ford swallowed a lump in his throat, not wanting to think about what could have happened if he had never met Dipper. If his first friend in years had passed before he’d even gotten a chance to meet him. _No, no Dipper’s fine, he made it. Don’t waste time dwelling on a possibility that never happened. Even though you **know** it did, somewhere in the multiverse… _

“Ya know, when Tate was born, he came into the world turned around, feet first! Nearly gave Janet a heart attack when the midwife couldn’t see ‘is head.” Fiddleford said, in an effort to cheer Dipper up.

_The camera was being held by someone else now, focusing on Sherman and Alexandria, sitting with their newborn twins. Shermie was standing next to his own son, a hand on his shoulder._

_“...Dipper.” Sherman said, quietly._

_“We are **not** naming our son **that.** ” Alexandria chided. “We agreed on Mason and Mabel.”_

_“It could be a nickname, a term of affection. Look, he’s got the big dipper on his head! He’s our little Dipper.” Sherman cooed down at Dipper softly, a huge grin on his face._

_“You did good, son.” Shermie said. “Never let my father near them. **Ever**.”_

_Sherman chuckled. “Don’t worry, Dad. I won’t.”_

_“Uh, Shermie, can you take this thing?” Stan said, from behind the shaky camera. “...Can I hold them?”_

Ford almost stopped breathing, turning to stare at Stan. “...Y-You were there?” He asked, incredulous.

“Y-yeah. Shermie gave me a call… I sped all the way to California.” Stan said, scratching the back of his head.

_The image shifted as Shermie took the camera, punctuated by a disgruntled grandfather’s complaints of ‘they’re my grandkids’ and ‘I made the person who helped make them, so I should be the first to hold them’ and a well-timed ‘Bite me, Shermie’ from Stan._

_“H-Hey, kids… I’m your Great Uncle… **Grunkle** Stanl-ford. Just Stan.” Stanley said, softly, staring at the twins in his arms with stars in his eyes. “Sweet Moses, they’re so small.” He whispered._

Something pierced through Ford’s heart. _That could have been you, that should have been you, you and Stanley and Fiddleford should all have been in that room. You were never **there** for them. _Ford’s hand clenched against the floor, gripping the shag carpeting like he’d float away if he let go.

Mabel gently tapped Ford’s arm, blinking up at him. “Are you sad that you didn’t get to hold us?”

“O-Out of all the things I _missed_ ,” Ford said, slowly, tears forming in his eyes. “Missing _you two_ hurts the _most_.” _Thirty years, wasted, and for what? You’ll never have a real connection with them, not like Stan has._ “I missed so _much_. I’m sorry, I-- I guess I j-just thought I wasn’t alone in that… but…” _But Stan **did** get to see them. He got to have all the connections I never did. And even before that.... I was just an asocial shut in, even if I’d never been pushed through the portal… who’s to say Sherman and Alexandria would have invited me in the first place?_

Mabel paused, frowning for a split second, until she got can idea. She held her arms out with a smile, “You can hold me now. I can pretend I’m a baby again!”

“You don’t h-have to go that far, Mabel.” Ford said. “But… I can’t turn down a hug.”

Mabel leaned into Ford and gave him a tight hug. “I can punch you in the jaw for the reenaction.” She said, beaming and holding up a fist.

Dipper chuckled and crawled up into Ford’s lap to join the hug. “I won't wrap a cord around my neck, I’m not that dedicated.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Ford said, holding Dipper and Mabel as close as he could. “I missed so much, I don’t want to _think_ about what could’ve happened if I’d missed you altogether.”

“I think you came just in time.” Dipper remarked. “And we’re really glad we got to meet you.”

Ford held the twins tighter, _they really do love me. They… they really do **care.**_

 _“Hey kiddos…” Stan said, whispering to the newborns in his arms, his voice so soft that the camera barely picked it up. “You know…” Stan paused, choosing his words carefully. “You know, I have a twin, too. He’s-- He was a great guy. A real knucklehead sometimes but a good guy. And wherever he’s at, he loves you. He’d love to meet you, I wish he was here to meet you now, and I know he wishes he were here too so... I guess… Hi. From your other Grunkle Stan.”_ The tape cut to static.

Ford paused, staring at Stan, fresh tears pooling in his eyes, before reaching out and pulling Stan into the group hug. “Come here, knucklehead… _Thank you_. Thanks for s-saying that. For m-making sure I was a part of this _family_ even before I got back.” Ford said. His heart soared when he felt Fiddleford wrapping his arms around them as well, joining in on the hug. Dipper and Mabel joined in, hugging all of them around the legs. For the first time in _years_ , Stanford Pines felt truly, unconditionally _happy_.

“What should we watch next?” Stan asked, pulling away from the hug but keeping a hand on Ford’s shoulders.

Dipper reached into the box of tapes and gasped “Look! It’s one of my films! I thought I’d lost this one!” He said, holding up a tape. Written on the side in poor handwriting were the words “ _Dipper’s Guide to the Unexplained #1_ ”

Ford chuckled, putting in the new tape for Dipper. “This looks clever. If it’s anything like your other ones, I’m sure it’ll be great.”

_The video opened up with Dipper, holding up a cardboard sign with the words ‘Dipper’s Guide to the Unexplained’ written on it in Sharpie._

_“Hello, I’m Dipper Pines.” Dipper said, tossing the sign away. The camera suddenly panned down towards an air vent near the floor._

_“I’ve always wondered what was down here. Hello, dust bunnies!” Mabel’s voice came from behind the camera._

_“The girl who’s currently **not** filming the subject of the video is my sister, Mabel.” Dipper deadpanned._

_“Aw, there’s not enough light to see down there.” Mabel whined._

_“Welcome, to Dipper’s Guide to the Unexplained! We’re here to find out... who Dad keeps talking to on the phone all the time?” Dipper said._

_“But first! The world premiere of ‘What’s Under Mabel’s Bandage’!” Mabel said, before Dipper grabbed the camera from her._

_“Mabel!” Dipper shouted, before it cut to a shot of Sherman on the phone, half of the shot consumed by the doorframe._

_“...I know it’s a while, I just think the kids could use the fresh air.” Sherman said, pacing from one end of the kitchen, a book in his free hand._

_“He’s been talking to who appears to be the same person every time.” Dipper whispered into the camera. “But **why**? And with who?”_

_“San Francisco’s a big city.” Sherman said, from the kitchen, oblivious to his children’s antics. “And Dipper doesn’t have many friends to hang out with.”_

Dipper’s shoulders slumped when he heard his father say that, mirroring his own image on the screen.

_“I just worry that they’re not having enough fun.” Sherman said. “Yeah. Just until the end of August--”_

_The camera cut once again. “Okay. My dad is off of the phone, and he left this book on the counter. He was apparently talking about me. So let’s see what he was reading.” Dipper said, picking up a worn out, yellowed copy of Treasure Island._

_“I think he was talking about both of us. Maybe we’re going on a cruise!” Mabel said, focusing the camera on the book. “So what’s in it?”_

_Dipper flipped through the book. “Huh. It doesn’t say it belongs to him, just Stan Pines.”_

_“You mean our Stan Pines? Grunkle Stan? The one who sent us expired coupons and cruddy gift shop stuff for our birthday?” Mabel asked._

_Dipper shrugged, leafing through the book. “Probably. It looks like it’s really old, and there’s some annotations in here, too. I think if we can find those birthday cards, I can try to cross-reference the handwriting.” Dipper said, taking out a pen and trying his best to look cool._

_“That’s just your way of saying you have no idea.” Mabel huffed._

_“Half of these aren’t real annotations, they’re addressed to someone, I think?” Dipper said. Mabel zoomed in on one of the annotations, written in terrible handwriting with dull pencil decades before she was born._

The picture was a little grainy, but Ford could make out a few words. _We’ll both sail away from this hellhole and no one will say you’re a freak and,_ the words were smudged and fuzzy from the camera, but Ford already knew the end of the sentence. _No one will think I’m dumb._ He remembered that summer, the summer when Treasure Island was assigned reading, when Stan had had so much trouble getting through the book. It took the whole summer, but Stan had read through the whole thing, and with Ford’s help, he enjoyed it. He remembered _why_ those annotations read like they were conversations, he remembered saying, ‘ _if you’re having trouble getting through the book, set aside a day to read it, grab a pencil, and just… pretend like you’re talking to me, telling me a tall tale in the Stan O War. And don’t be afraid to go back and reread it, that’s how these old ones are supposed to be read, they had to last a while,’_ and he remembered it actually working. He remembered the book becoming one of Stan’s favorites.

The book had been one of the many things left behind when Filbrick had kicked Stanley from his home.

Ford remembered having to box up all of Stanley’s old things. Lord knew Filbrick wasn’t going to do it, he wasn’t going to take responsibility for what he’d done, and Stanford’s mother was so distraught she was barely able to take care of an infant Sherman Sr, let alone sift through her little Stanley’s possessions, so the task had fallen on Ford’s shoulders. He remembered putting them all in a box, having to squeeze them all in just to fit (Filbrick had only given him the one and Ford dared not ask for another). Looking back now, he remembered how cruel it had all seemed, though now Ford held the opinion for slightly different reasons. He remembered carrying the box up to the attic, the only place where it would be safe without Filbrick deciding to simply toss everything. It had laid there forgotten for years until Shermie had left the house, and decided to take Stanley’s belongings with him, since by that time it was clear that Stanley couldn’t come back for them and that Stanford _wouldn’t_ come back for them. Ford supposed that Shermie must have bequeathed the box to Sherman at some point in order for him to have had the book. He wondered if it was still somewhere in their house, or if it had managed to weasel its way into one of the boxes he, Stan, and Soos had packed in those few days before the funeral.

The camera cut to another shot, this time from under the kitchen table, only Sherman’s legs visible.

_“No… No, don’t worry about the cost of the bus tickets. We’ll take care of all of the expenses. Please, I just… I need them to get out of here. You’re the only person I trust to do this, Stan.” Sherman said, sounding tense._

Stan winced at the wording, he hadn’t noticed it then, because he’d been hearing the conversation in a different context, but from Dipper and Mabel’s perspective? It was no wonder the Dipper on screen looked so nervous. Stan remembered the first half of that conversation, the half that Dipper and Mabel probably hadn’t heard, the half where a slightly panicked Sherman had called just after an earthquake. It had been a minor one, without injuries or a lot of damage, but it still had Sherman worried. He was a New Jersey man at heart, he’d never quite gotten used to earthquakes despite all the years he’d lived in San Francisco, and he was worried even more about his children. He was worried that they’d never be able to see the world, and he was worried that his own fear of the ocean would be what ultimately stood in their way, and the worry in his voice had sounded so much like _Stanford’s._ But he hadn’t known that the reason behind Sherman’s frantic calls in the first place was a teenager’s crushed and forgotten dreams, written down in the margins of a book he was too stupid-- no, not stupid. It wasn’t that, Stan told himself. He just… couldn’t understand the first time around, so he’d had to read it twice. Not that he’d minded once he _did_ understand the contents.

_Behind the camera, Mabel began to sniffle, and Sherman paused. “I have to go, Stan. Please, just think about it, okay? I’ll talk to you later.” Sherman scooted his chair away from the table, and poked his head under, his face right in the camera “What are you kids doing down here?”_

_“We heard everything.” Dipper said, glaring at his father. “You want to get rid of us.”_

Dipper shrunk against the back of the chair, leaning against Ford, who wrapped his arm around Dipper’s shoulders. Ford would be absolutely _livid_ if it wasn’t for the fact that Stanley wasn’t looking at the screen like he was angry, or even hurt. Ford knew that Stan had heard the other side of that conversation, that Stan knew more about it than he did at the moment, and above all else, he _trusted_ his brother.

_“Are we in trouble?” Mabel asked, her voice soft and weak._

_“No, kids, not at all! I-- Allow me to explain?” Sherman said, speaking to the kids as people, his voice without a trace of condescension. The camera’s low battery icon began to blink._

_“Ah, dang it. Here, let me plug it in fir--” Dipper’s voice was silenced as the camera cut once again, sitting on the counter top. Mabel, Dipper and Sherman sat at the table, all of them with a cup of something hot._

_“I’m not trying to get rid of you, I promise. I just wanted it to be a surprise. You kids have been cooped up in the house for a while and your Great Uncle Stan could use the company.” Sherman said. “It’s just for one summer, and if you decide you don’t like it, you can call me and your mother and we’ll come pick you up, at any time. I admit… I don’t know too much about your Great Uncle, but from what I know, he really wants to get to know you kids. I think you’ll really enjoy being in Oregon. The countryside is beautiful, you’ll have some real fun up there.”_

_Mabel smiled wide. “Okay! What a relief, we thought you hated us or something!”_

_Dipper didn’t look too pleased at spending a whole summer in a strange small town where he didn’t know anyone, with a strange relative in a strange house. What’s worse, he didn’t look like he completely believed his father either. And yet, he still let out a quiet, but firm, “Okay.”_

_The camera cut once again, this time to Dipper and Mabel’s room._

_“Okay, that’s it for Dipper’s Guide to the Unexplained. Apparently Mabel and I have to go to Gravity Falls, Oregon for the entire summer because Dad thinks that the last ten thousand years of people trying to perfect ‘inside’ should go to waste. It’ll probably be the most boring summer ever, so, I guess this is going to be it for a while.” Dipper said._

The TV cut to static, and Dipper sat in silence, shaking and gripping the shag carpet until his knuckles went white. Ford frowned, an empathetic look in his eyes, knowing all too well what it was like to relive fights you just wanted to forget, and slowly scooped Dipper up in another hug.

Dipper allowed himself to cry, burying his face into Ford’s shoulder. Ford held Dipper close, gently rubbing circles into his back. “It’s alright, Dipper.” Ford whispered, his voice calm and steady. “It's alright, you didn't know. Based on your video, I almost thought the same thing you had back then.”

“I was so mad at him. I held a grudge for too long, he thought I hated him.” Dipper sobbed. “I didn't even write to him for weeks after I got here…”

Mabel scooted closer to Dipper and Ford, taking Dipper’s hand. “Dad knows you love him! He always knew that!” Mabel said.

“Your father was a clever man.” Ford said. “He wouldn't lose sight of his family so easily.”

“I miss him. I never said sorry.” Dipper said, quietly.

“You didn't need to.” Ford said, shifting his weight into a more comfortable position.

“Dipper, your dad loves you. Your mom too. One little misunderstanding isn't going to change that.” Stan said. _Not with them, not with Sherman and Alexandria._

“I don’t want to watch videos anymore.” Dipper said, his voice small, thankful that Ford was there so he could hide his face.

“That’s perfectly alright, Dipper.” Ford said, trying to give his nephew a reassuring smile. “...How’d you like to help me get dinner ready? Get your mind off things?”

Dipper stood up, slowly nodding his head, and waited for Ford to lead him into the kitchen.

“Try not to burn the house down, Poindexter.” Stan grumbled. “...And if you need help, you know where to find me.”

“I’m not going to burn the house down!” Ford said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Besides, if I recall correctly, the last kitchen fire was _your_ doing, Stan!”

Dipper shuffled into the kitchen and opened up the fridge, sighing. “What are we making?” He asked, staring at the… _interesting_ mix of ingredients in the fridge. _The fridge never looked this way at home…_

“I was actually thinking salads. We can top them with some chicken, and I think Stan’s got some olive oil in a cabinet somewhere.” Ford said. “You know, it’s funny, I actually ate more vegetables in a day on the other side of the portal than I did in three weeks over here? There’s something about the availability of proteins over that of vegetables that was… appealing for a while. But now I’m starting to miss them?” Ford smiled haphazardly, awkwardly trying to lighten the mood, with little success.

Dipper shrugged and pulled out some vegetables and a head of lettuce from the fridge, staying quiet.

“Um… So, salads. We could add bell peppers and carrots? Does Mabel like tomatoes?” Ford asked, pulling out a questionable looking container of grape tomatoes. “I can never remember if it’s you or her who won’t eat the small ones.”

Dipper shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t matter.”

Ford knew that the right way to respond to that would be a ‘ _I think it does_ ’. He knew that that’s what Stan or Fiddleford would say. But after thirty years of foods no human was built to withstand, he couldn’t really see the point in disliking safe-to-eat foods to the point of refusing to eat them. He supposed that _that_ was what had made him a bad cook. “Oh!” Ford said, his hand snapping up to his head, where he was still wearing the hat Dipper had given him. “...Here’s your hat back. Thank you, for letting me borrow it.” He said, holding out the hat to Dipper.

Dipper took the hat from Ford, staring at it for a good minute. It took him a while to realize that he hadn’t thought about not having it all day. He wasn’t aware that he had even been missing it and, most importantly of all, no one had made fun of or even acknowledged his birthmark. “...You know, I think Pacifica dating Mabel has stopped bullies more than this hat ever did.” He said, quietly. “...Maybe you should keep it.”

“Are you sure, Dipper? You always wear this, won’t you miss it?” Ford asked, kneeling down to Dipper’s level.

Dipper shook his head. “Not really. And if I change my mind I can always grab a new one from the gift shop.”

“Thank you, Dipper…” Ford said, placing the hat back on his head with a crooked smile, pausing for a moment before ruffling Dipper’s hair. “I mean it. Thank you.”

Dipper let a tiny smile escape. “You’re welcome, Grunkle Ford.”

“Now, what do we want to put on these salads?” Ford asked, taking out a packet of chicken from the freezer and running some warm water from the sink over it to thaw. “Is there any cheese in the fridge?”

“I think so. And we have about ten bottles of salad dressing with only like, a tablespoon of dressing left in them.” Dipper said.

“Oh, then that’s even better than my idea!” Ford said, grabbing a bowl from the cupboard. “Here, start emptying all the dressing into this, I’ll work on figuring out how to cook the chicken.”

“Grunkle Ford, I can handle the cooking that requires heat… how about you chop the vegetables?” Dipper said.

Ford frowned, he’d wanted to start getting the hang of using an oven again, now that he’d mastered using the stove, but if Dipper wanted to cook the chicken, he wasn’t one to turn him down. “...Alright. Hand me that knife.” Ford said.

Slowly, over the course of the evening, over only _slightly_ burned chicken and haphazardly chopped vegetables, Dipper began to relax into the strange, erratic rhythm of things, of living with his uncles in Gravity Falls, instead of with his parents in San Francisco. But as he and Mabel crept upstairs for bed that evening, one final thought formed in Dipper’s head, just before he went to sleep.

_I guess I was right. In a way._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, everyone! We recently hit 8000+ hits on this fic and we cannot thank you enough! The next chapter should be up soon!  
> (the-stan-twin.tumblr.com and the-ford-twin.tumblr.com)


	22. A Clean Slate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> http://cirilee.tumblr.com/post/133546916592/yet-another-comic-relating-the-dipper-and-mabel shoutout to tumblr user cirilee for letting us use one of her posts for the fic!
> 
> Content warnings for cannibalism, self harm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7-15-13-16-5-18-19 1-14-4 6-9-4-4-19 1-18-5 15-12-4 10-21-14-11-25-1-18-4 2-21-4-4-9-5-19

It only took Manly Dan a few more days to fix Ford and Fiddleford’s room. He had truly outdone himself, crafting not only a beautiful room with hardwood flooring and custom windows, but he had hand carved a bed frame for what he called “Gravity Falls’ latest power couple”, complete with a mattress that had been… _acquired_ by Stanley.

“The bed frame’s free, of course.” Manly Dan said. “And these walls can withstand THE STRONGEST OF PUNCHES!” He screamed, punching the wall as hard as he could, coming up with a few splinters, but neither him nor the wall were any worse for wear.

Stanley and Ford cast a knowing glance towards each other. “Thank you, Dan.” Ford said. “You’d… be surprised how often this house gets punched.”

“This place sure is mighty swell.” Fiddleford said, incredulous and nearly in tears. It had been so _long_ since he’d had a proper room, and he was itching to try out the bed.

Manly Dan laughed, and patted both Fiddleford and Ford on the back, a lot harder than he intended to. “If you ever think about remodeling again, I’m your guy. I’ll leave you men TO IT!” Manly Dan gave them one last pat before stomping out of the room, ducking his head to fit through the doorway.

“He hasn’t changed a bit in thirty years.” Ford said. “Except in height, somehow he managed to get even _taller_ than when he built this place. I wonder if he ever came across those growth crystals in the forest. He is a lumberjack, I wouldn’t put it past him...” Ford added, pensively.

Fiddleford kicked off his shoes and ran towards the bed, leaping onto it and jumping on the mattress. “Ya-hoo! Stanford, we have our own bed! No more sleepin’ on the floor!” He said, a few happy tears streaming down his face. “No… No more sleepin’ outside, neither…” He added.

“Are you alright?” Ford asked, trying not to focus on how different the room looked now, trying to keep his spirits up. “It… has been a while since either of us had a real bed… hasn’t it?”

“I’m better than alright!” Fiddleford said, flopping down on the bed. Fiddleford patted the spot next to him. “Come lay down with me, enjoy it. You deserve this, Stanford.”

“Yeah, I didn’t take-- er, _find_ that mattress in the Big Gunz Laser Tag storage closet for nothing!” Stan said. “That thing’s brand new, it had the plastic on it and everything. Lay down for a while.” Stanley said from the doorway, grinning at how nice the room looked. “Thank god Manly Dan gave us a discount on all this.”

“He’s always been that way.” Ford said, slowly sitting down on the bed. “He actually gave me a discount on this house when he built it. Maybe… I should have gotten to know him a little better back then.” _No, no if you’d done that then Stanley’s plan would have never worked… Someone would have recognized him and it would’ve all been over. For the both of you._ Ford couldn’t help but lay down once he made contact with the mattress, kicking off his boots before laying down for the first time in decades, worried about tearing holes in the bedding for the first time in decades.

Fiddleford rolled over to lay his head on Ford’s chest, yawning as he stretched his arms to flop over Ford’s torso. “I could get used to this. I-- I can’t thank y’all enough fer this… Fer everythin’.” Fiddleford said, softly.

Ford wrapped his own arms around Fiddleford, holding him close. “Thanks, Stan…” He mumbled, allowing his eyes to flutter shut, completely comfortable, completely at ease.

Ford found, despite the changes, that he rather liked the new room.

In the attic, Mabel rifled through the boxes underneath her bed, searching for her spare knitting needles and a ball of yarn that she just _knew_ Ford would like. A simple wool yarn, but in an adorable pale pink Mabel thought would suit her Grunkle well. “Dipper, have you seen my blue sewing box? It has my old knitting and sewing stuff in it? I thought I put it under here!”

“I think I flung it somewhere across the room a few nights ago, when I was looking for a needle and thread.” Dipper said, quietly, looking up from an old Sibling Brother’s book. “Here, let me check and see if it landed somewhere behind the nightstand.”

“A needle and thread? For-- Oh.” Mabel said softly, sitting up. “Grunkle Ford, that’s right…” She climbed up to sit on her bed and sighed, watching Dipper throw his stuff around to look for her box. “It’s so crowded in here. Not like it was in summer…” Mabel said. “We had less stuff then.”

“I think this is it?” Dipper said, holding up a blue sewing box. “What were you saying about Grunkle Ford?”

“I forgot you had to… you had to sew up his head. I was still asleep. I was still in my dream.” Mabel said, taking the box from Dipper and examining the contents. “Yep, this is it. Thanks.” She looked down at the floor, cluttered with clothes and boxes, some things still unpacked. She felt overwhelmed.

“Yeah.” Dipper said, looking away, hoping he’d never have to touch a needle and thread again. “...Sewing clothes was easier.” He said.

“That was super brave of you, Dipper. I couldn’t have done that.” Mabel said.

“ _I_ didn’t even know I could until I did.” Dipper said. “I just… I didn’t want to look at Ford and _know_ that he wasn’t… there anymore. I didn’t want to look at Ford and see _Bill_.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t awake, that I didn’t help. I was just scared… I still get scared. I hate thinking about what Bill said.”

“No, no, if you’d been awake he would have been awake too… Ford wouldn’t want either of us to see him like that… There’s a reason I didn’t try to wake you up first, if Ford was awake he wouldn’t have let me do the st-stitching.” Dipper said. “He wouldn’t have thought that I could handle it.”

“He knows you can handle it. I just get worried. I’m scared that he’s not going to be okay. So I’m going to teach him to knit today, that what I do when I get sad, or nervous, and I think it’ll help. It has to, right?” Mabel asked.

“It’d be better than whatever he’s doing right now.” Dipper sighed. “Mabel… do you remember those cuts on his hands?”

“Yeah?”

“Those weren’t there when he woke up.” Dipper said, slowly. “Bill didn’t do that. I think… I think Grunkle Ford did that to himself.”

Mabel covered her mouth, gasping. “Why… Why would he do that? Maybe it was an accident!”

“I don’t know! For all I know it _was_ an accident, I just--” Dipper stopped short. “I just…”

“Is that why you were so worried about him?” Mabel asked, sitting down on Dipper’s bed.

“Yeah. And he didn’t take losing his coat very well either. And he _says_ he’ll be fine but I don’t know if he really _will be._ And I can’t talk to him about it because all he’ll do is just say he’ll be fine. Which does nothing!”

Mabel put can arm around Dipper and squeezed. “Hey, bro, chill out. He may be having a tough time, but he really will be fine. He’s got Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Fidds, he doesn’t want you worrying like this. We just gotta help in little ways. Like your hat. Or teaching him to knit. He just got his new room and his new bed, I think after a nap, he’ll be brand new!” Mabel said.

“I hope so.” Dipper said, giving Mabel a small smile and looking around their cluttered room. “Speaking of new rooms… I… I was thinking…”

Mabel sighed. “Me too. We have too much stuff to keep sharing this tiny little room… But where else can we stay? Grunkle Ford has the other room!”

“It’s not that I don’t like sharing a room with you. I do! I just… you’re right, there’s too much stuff, and there’s nowhere else we can put it.” Dipper said. “If we can talk Grunkle Stan into letting one of us use his old storage room, we might be able to pull it off. I don’t think he’d be willing to add another room so soon after having to fix the house.”

“You mean the creepy wax figure room?” Mabel asked. “The one with like, one tiny window?”

“The attic has one tiny window.” Dipper said. “The wax figure room just needs better lighting.”

“Yeah, I guess it could work… Will you still have sleepovers with me?” Mabel asked, frowning.

“Yeah! Yeah, of course.” Dipper said. “I just don’t see a way around moving into separate rooms. Especially with us getting older. We’re only going to get more stuff from here.”

“Yeah, and sometimes you snore.” Mabel said.

“And we don’t have to move out right away.” Dipper shuffled his feet. “We can wait until after Hanukkah or something.”

“Or the New Year?” Mabel asked.

“Even better.” Dipper nodded in agreement.

Mabel smiled and hopped off of Dipper’s bed. “Perfect! We’re _teens_ now, after all. We need the privacy.”

Dipper swallowed a lump in his throat, before pulling Mabel into a hug. “I miss mom and dad… I-I wish we were still in San Francisco and I… I didn’t want to go back home at the end of summer and I’m sorry I-- I just wanted a little more summer and now we’re here and we… We can’t go back home.”

“Dipper you didn’t know this was gonna happen… I miss San Francisco too, I miss Mom and Dad. And I… I wanted a little more summer, too. Mom and Dad are gone… But we’re okay. Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford love us, and we’ll be okay. They’re not mom and dad, but they’re trying.” Mabel said, hugging Dipper back. “And you’re always gonna have me.”

“Promise?” Dipper said, squeezing Mabel tight.

“Promise.” Mabel said, returning the hug full force.

“Kids! Get down here, the meeting’s about to start!” Stan called from the bottom of the stairs, causing Dipper to jump, clutching his heart.

“Coming!” Mabel called, bounding towards the door, yarn and knitting needles in hand. Dipper followed at a reasonable pace, his hands in his pockets.

Soos, and Wendy sat at the card table in the living room, with popcorn and Pitt Colas aplenty, while Stan stood in front of an easel, where a giant pad of paper was perched.

“Good, every Mystery Shack employee is here.” Stan said, flipping the giant notepad open to the first page. Stan had drawn a quick doodle of the Mystery Shack, covered in holiday decorations. “The Mystery Shack is going to re-open for business on December first. That means we have to have Christmas decorations up by November 30th, _and_ we’ll need to put Hanukkah decorations up for the kids.” Stan flipped to the next page, where he’d drawn Dipper and Mabel standing on either side of the Star of David.

Mabel and Dipper joined Soos and Wendy at the table. Wendy’s eyes widened when she noticed Dipper didn’t have his hat, but she gave him a wide, supportive smile.

“We can do the Hanukkah decorations ourselves, Grunkle Stan!” Mabel said. “It’ll be great, I can dress Waddles up for the occasion! A different costume for each night!”

“That’s a great idea! And we can _use_ that!” Stan said, snapping his fingers. “A customer will come back if it means seeing the pig in a different costume.” Stan said, drawing a quick picture of Waggles dressed as a rabbi for his notes, coloring it with a bright, glittery pink marker. “Soos. Wendy. What Christmas ideas have you got?”

“Apocalypse training gear?” Wendy said.

“Rainbows.” Soos said. “No no, wait, _pizza rain_.”

“What? No. That's not Christmas. I don't think.” Stan said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You don’t… think?” Dipper asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You’d think after thirty years of running this business I’d have a more solid grasp on the true meaning of Christmas.” Stan said, shrugging.

Mabel pulled out her phone. “I know about Christmas! Santa Claus, trees indoors, some poor kid has to sleep outside--”

“I know ancient aliens visited earth causing what locals believed to be a celestial event that allowed short-term navigation to a specific location across hundreds of miles.” Dipper said.

“Okay, fat guy in red, aliens, trees. And the Messiah.” Stan said, jotting down some rough notes. “Nowhere in any of that is there pizza rain or apocalypse gear.” Stan said. “So think of something else.”

“What? What are we talking about?” Ford said, wandering into the living room, having been woken by Stan calling the kids, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Christmas. Mr. Pines doesn’t get it.” Wendy said, leaning back in her chair. “My family _always_ trains for the apocalypse instead of Christmas.”

“A wise decision.” Ford said, nodding solemnly. “I personally choose to celebrate Christmas with slight variations on traditional winter holidays from the several hundred cultures and dimensions I’ve been to.”

“Is that gonna help me sell overpriced crap to tourists?” Stan asked.

“That… depends on how commercialized Christmas has become in the last thirty years, I suppose.” Ford said. “Though in my personal experience, yes. People can and do most anything to celebrate Christmas, it’s part of the reason I’m so fond of it. If you’re looking for decoration ideas… er, may I?” Ford asked, grabbing a pen from his pocket and gesturing to Stan’s notepad.

“Be my guest. Just use a clean sheet” Stan said, stepping aside.

Ford flipped to a clean page, drawing a quick sketch of the Mystery Shack (taking the time to add the surrounding forest… and the clouds… and a sun). “Alright, so the basic outline of the Mystery Shack is essentially a triangle. So we should balance that out with as much garland as possible to offset the, er, threatening look of the Shack.” Ford cleared his throat, adding garland to the drawing. “I suggest we follow the Baccuian tradition of using shed reindeer antlers as a wreath, to ward off evil spirits. A reasonably sized tree won’t fit in the house, so we can have a smaller one inside while putting up a larger one outside.” Ford added an antler-wreath and a large, impressive Christmas tree to the drawing, decorating it with all manner of strange and alien knick knacks. “We can use Stan’s dentures as a tree topper to substitute biloxorg teeth or… angels.”

“We are _NOT_ using my dentures as decorations. But I like your thinking, Ford. I have fake chatter teeth we can use. In fact, we can use lots of merchandize as decorations, as a display! This is perfect, Ford! Any more genius ideas?” Stan said, grinning ear to ear. Ford could practically see the dollar signs in his eyes.

“Well-- I… I’m glad you think so?” Ford said, a little sheepishly. “I was actually thinking… You could advertise Fiddleford’s computer repair services.”

“Yeah, he did great on my laptop, it’s running faster than it was when I first bought it!” Wendy added.

“And the parts we needed came in the other day, we can start taking orders now.” Ford said. “People would be interested in computers for Christmas, right?”

“Dude. I've been wanting Santa to bring me a new computer the last. Three. Christmases. I think he keeps forgetting.” Soos said.

 _I am going to build this man a computer if it’s the last thing I do._ “Well that works out then!” Ford said. “If-- If you don’t mind, Stan…”

“I'll let you do it, but I'll charge you te-- five percent of your rates.” Stan said, crossing his arms.

Soos and Wendy’s jaws hit the floor, they’d never seen Stan drive his own price _down_ before.

Ford was silent for a moment, his mouth agape, flabbergasted. “...Thank you.” He said, finally, his voice soft. Ford reached out, putting a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “Thank you, you won’t regret this.”

“I know I won't. Go tell your nerd, and draft up an ad to put up in the gift shop, alright?” Stan said.

“Will do!” Ford beamed, running back down the hall to find Fiddleford, reveling in the fact that Stan really did care about him, enough to give him a discount of all things. Something Ford had never thought Stan would ever do, much less without asking. _Wow. He really wants this for us. For **me**. _ Ford brought a hand to his face, trying to hide the wide grin that had spread across his face.

Ford slowly opened the door to his and Fiddleford’s room, half expecting to find Fiddleford awake, but not surprised to see that he was asleep instead. Ford let out a tiny, contented sigh, marveling as he noticed the way the hardwood floor felt underneath his socked feet, at the way the sunlight fell through the window, at how… _beautiful_ the forest looked, unmarred by the isolating stained glass that had previously dominated the wall. The nightstand next to the bed had proved the perfect spot for a picture frame, and Ford had gently placed the family photo Dipper had given him inside. Fiddleford turned over in his sleep, facing the doorway with a faint smile on his lips, cuddling a pillow in Ford's place. _And Fiddleford’s still here, to experience all of this with me. And he’s got a nice, sturdy roof over his head and a warm bed to rest in-- and we’ll both be able to experience those things again, **together**._

Ford carefully sat down on the bed, not wanting to wake Fiddleford or muss up the sheets. _I wonder what books were published while I was gone._ Ford thought, gently placing a hand on Fiddleford’s balding head. _I suppose I should ask Dipper for some recommendations._ Ford didn’t think it was possible, but his smile grew even wider. _I almost forgot what being **home** felt like. It’s so… peaceful, despite the chaos I know is lurking in the basement…_

Ford slowly opened the top drawer of the nightstand, revealing what contents had been salvaged from his coat a few days prior. He hadn’t had the chance to really sort through them yet. Carefully, trying not to wake Fiddleford, he removed the drawer from its track and placed it in his lap, filing through the contents, setting aside single serving snack packets and loose alien currency. _Maybe I should give some of that to Stan with his Hanukkah present. He would like alien treasure. Even if these would only amount to about a dollar._ Ford took the time to neatly stack the strange coins before returning his attention to the drawer. His nose wrinkled as the smell of dried cloves wafted from the drawer, and tried his best to scoop the (by now) crushed herbs from the bottom of the drawer. _I need to put these in a new pouch… or perhaps the garbage._ The cloves had clung to any remaining food items Ford had had in his coat, including, to his dismay, some gummy koalas Mabel had given him on Halloween. _Well, dried, raw cloves aren’t meant to be eaten, but it would be a shame to let the candy go to waste._ Ford thought as he hastily ate the gummies, finding the too-sweet taste the cloves gave to actually enhance the flavor of the candies. _Now where is…_ Ford’s hand stopped, caught between the weaponized knitting needles and some moonstone, his eyes scanning the contents of the drawer. _Where is it?!_ Ford rifled through the drawer for a split second, his heart racing, before remembering that Fiddleford was asleep on the bed next to him. Ford swallowed a lump in his throat as he forced his hand to slow down, to not wake Fiddleford.

He hadn’t looked at the photograph in a while, he hadn’t had a reason to when its subject was living under the same roof as him. But still, the idea of the photo, a childhood picture of him and Stanley on the Stan O’ War, that had been taken by their mother, being gone forever? Was more than enough to send a bitter shiver down Ford’s spine. _It’s not here, and Stan wouldn’t have taken it. He even left the loose caffeine pills, he wouldn’t have taken **that photo** … Right?_

“Grunkle Ford?” Mabel spoke quietly, peering in from the doorway, holding two sets of knitting needles and two balls of yarn. “Sorry, are you trying to sleep?”

 “No,” Ford whispered, setting the drawer aside and taking a deep breath, carefully standing up and leading Mabel out of the room, so they wouldn't disturb Fiddleford's sleep. The photo could wait, it wasn’t going to get any more lost while Ford spent some time with Mabel. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, I remember you don’t know how to use those knitting needles you have… do you want to learn? I can teach you, it’s very relaxing.” Mabel said, holding up the pink ball of yarn.

Ford gently took the yarn from her, noting how soft the wool felt between his fingers. “You know, I think I could use a hobby. I think it'd be an excellent idea for you to teach me.”

Mabel beamed, looking more excited than she’d been in a while. “Great! Meet me in the living room, I’m going to get more yarn!” Mabel said, before running back upstairs.

Ford didn't have very long to wait, he'd just arrived in the living room when Mabel came bounding back down the stairs, with about five more balls of yarn. “Pick your favorite color! I think the pink one suits you, but I brought more just in case.

“You know what? I rather like the pink.” Ford said, smiling softly at the fact that Mabel associated such a happy, cheerful color with… with him, of all people.

“Me too.” Mabel said, plopping down on the easy chair and handing Ford a set of knitting needles. “Okay, the first step is to get comfortable. Knitting takes a while, especially when you're just starting out.” She said.

“Okay…” Ford took a leftover chair from the Mystery Shack employee meeting and sat in front of Mabel.

“Alright, so each differently sized yarn needs a differently sized needle to knit with. I already gave you the right size needle for that yarn so you don't have to worry about it right now, but I'll teach you how to use a knitting gauge later.”

 _Oh great, more thread and needle sizes to worry about,_ Ford thought, _hopefully this will be easier to pick up than sewing._

“Okay, so first thing's first. Make a slipknot around one of the knitting needles, then pull it tight, but not too tight.” Mabel said, doing the same with her own needle and thread. “Like this.”

Ford watched Mabel carefully and mirrored what she did. “Is this alright?” He asked.

Mabel nodded. “Yep! Now comes the tricky part. Wrap the two tail ends of the yarn around your thumb and your index finger, like this.” Mabel held up what she had so far so Ford could get a better look, only continuing when she saw that Ford had done it correctly. “Then, slip the needle under the yarn on your thumb, and over the yarn on your index finger. That's how you start your stitches, go ahead and make about twelve of those to start out with.” She said.

Ford followed Mabel’s instructions to the letter, picking up on it pretty quick. “Okay… so now what?” He asked.

“Now we're going to start working with the other needle. But first! You need to learn how to hold the yarn.” Mabel said. “So the whole thing about knitting is that you've gotta keep it tight enough to not fall apart but loose enough to actually fit your needle through the stitches.” Mabel threaded the yarn through her fingers. “This part is pretty tricky, but _you_ have a secret weapon!”

“I do?” Ford raised an eyebrow.

Mabel nodded, carefully threaded Ford's yarn through his fingers, loosely wrapping it around Ford's pinky once before stepping back. “So basically you've got an extra bit of control over the yarn!”

“I… uh… Well I don't quite follow.” Ford said, staring at the yarn in his hands for just a moment before focusing his attention back on Mabel.

“Just watch. Okay now hold the needle with the stitches on it in your left hand, and the empty needle in your right. Then slide the right needle underneath your first stitch,” Mabel paused, making sure Ford was doing it right. “Then wrap the yarn from your right hand-- the working yarn, between the needles, then push it through, and you've started your second row of stitches!” Mabel said.

“I think I've got it. How am I supposed to manipulate these rows of stitches into a sweater?” Ford asked, slowly working the rest of the yarn, finding it relatively easy to control the thread with the extra leverage.

“Well right now you’ll just be making a scarf. Sweaters are tricky, basically you have to knit all the pieces and sew them together. Starting out small is the better option!” Mabel said. “You’re doing great, Grunkle Ford!”

“I have a wonderful teacher to thank for that.” Ford said, smiling at his niece.

Mabel giggled and softly punched Ford in the arm. “Thanks. I just have lots of experience. My mom taught me a few years ago, because I was really fidgety and she said I needed something to do with my hands.” She said.

Ford’s heart soared at that, as he continued stitching, finishing his second row and working on the third. “She was a wonderful woman.” He said, relaxing into the rhythm of knitting. “Thank you, for sharing this with me.”

“You're welcome. Now we can sit down and knit together! We can make matching hats and scarves and sweaters!” Mabel said, swinging her legs. “Grunkle Ford, what was your mom like?”

Ford stopped dead in his tracks. “She was, er… tall. Long hair. She always wore lipstick to match her nail polish. She’s not around anymore, but… She would have loved to meet you.”

“Oh.” Mabel said, a little disheartened. “What did she do again? Was she nice?”

“She ran a fake psychic hotline.” Ford said, pausing, mulling over something in his head. “She was nicer than my father.” He said, finally.

“Do you ever miss her?” Mabel asked, her voice quiet.

Ford didn’t know how to respond to that. He knew that the truthful answer was _“no, not really, I accepted that she was likely dead a long time ago, she was already getting on in years when I fell through the portal and I wasn’t in close contact with her”_ but that wasn’t the correct answer. The correct answer was _“yes, I loved her and my father very much and I called them every week while I was in college. I know what it’s like to miss your parents the same way you miss yours, Mabel. You’re not alone.”_

“I missed everybody when I was in the portal, Mabel. It’s okay to miss somebody who’s gone… I don't quite feel that way anymore, but that comes with time, I suppose.” Ford said, carefully choosing the mixture of truthful and correct. “...You know, I thought her psychic hotline was the real thing until I was seven?”

“Oh wow! She must have been good.” Mabel said, her smile returning.

“She was. I probably would have gone on thinking it was real for a while, but… One afternoon I asked her what breakfast would be the next day. She said she didn’t know, and when I replied she was psychic and should know everything, my father was the one who’d told me that the whole thing was fake.” Ford said, returning to his knitting. “Heh, you know I actually cried when I found out? I didn’t come out of my room for the whole night.”

Mabel gasped softly and placed a small hand on Ford's shoulder. “I'm sorry, Grunkle Ford. I would be sad too. You think that stuff would run in the family, how cool would that be? Figuring out all that was fake must have been awful.”

“I-- uh…” Ford stammered, not wanting to burden Mabel with his problems, especially not ones that had been solved decades prior. “I suppose I got my interest in the supernatural from her. For a long time, I chalked my fingers up to the idea that she was psychic. It’d make sense for a psychic woman to give birth to a child with six fingers.”

“Woah! That totally does make sense!” Mabel exclaimed, agreeing wholeheartedly. “When you found out it was fake, that must have-- that must have really hurt.”

Ford let out a chuckle. “Well it did at the time, but I had Stanley to help me. And I eventually formed a new hypothesis.” He said. “Little seven year old me thought he’d hatched from an egg. Which, interestingly enough, is how the Nyota of dimension 291;2 reproduce. They’re essentially bird humans.”

Mabel pondered this for a while, before saying “If you were a bird-person, you would totally be an owl.”

“You know, there’s actually a similar species that are called Bird People. From Bird World.” Ford said, smiling. “It’s a very important distinction.”

“Wow! Have you ever met pig people?” Mabel asked.

“Er, no, I can’t say that I have.” Ford said, scratching his head. “But I’ve met cow people. In Dimension 11B09\\\\.”

“Cool! Like, cows on two legs? Were they friendly?” Mabel asked.

“Yes, they were bipedal. They weren’t.... _exactly_ friendly, though. The roles of humans and cows had essentially swapped, so they freaked out a little when they saw me walking around on two legs.” Ford said, slowly reaching up to scratch at a scar on his neck. “They, uh, tried to turn me into a steak at first. Then they put me in some of their kid’s movies. _Humany, the Human on Two Legs._ ” Ford paused. “Do yourself a favor and _never think about that universe for more than five seconds_.”

“That’s not a very creative name. That must have been super scary. So there were like… Cows eating people? And people eating grass? That's really gross.”

“Ah, yes, interesting fact about cows. They are, in fact, omnivores, like us. So while the cows ate meat, the humans got scraps as well.” Ford said. _They were slaughterhouse leftovers, **human** slaughterhouse leftovers. _“The people there looked different than we do, here, I’ll show you. Where did Stan put that giant notepad?”

“Over on the card table.” Mabel said, pointing.

Ford nodded, grabbing the notepad and his pen. “For one thing, their skulls evolved to be shaped differently than ours. They had a slightly smaller cranial cavity, and a larger jaw.” Ford said, sketching out a distorted but vaguely human-shaped skull.

“That looks super creepy… I should make a sculpture of that for Grunkle Stan to use in the Mystery Shack!” Mabel said.

“I think he’d like that. And it’s not strange to them, that was just what they looked like.” Ford said. “You, uh… you want to hear the story about the human uprising I staged there?” He asked, sheepishly.

“Yes!” Mabel frantically ran to the kitchen and returned with snacks in under a minute. “Story time!”

“Okay, take a seat.” Ford said. “So, this was a little while after they stuck me in _Humany, the Human on Two Legs._ For context, the movie is essentially ninety minutes of me standing in front of a camera and angrily doing stupid dances.” Ford said. “They took my coat away, too, dam-- darn cows. Had to steal it back.” He muttered. “They, uh… they had me living with two other humans, they didn’t have names. Actually communicating with them was a big problem, seeing as they didn’t appear to have the capacity for language at first. I, uh, mostly just talked to myself to try and keep myself sane. I kept trying to escape, so the cow-people had to chain me to the wall, but the other two humans may as well have been free to do as they pleased by comparison.” Ford tapped his finger against his knee, unsure of how to proceed. “One night, one of them astounded me by trying to help me pick the lock on my chain. That was when it hit me, that these humans, though they looked so dissimilar to myself, were, in fact, _humans._ They had the capacity for rational thought, it was simply buried under thousands of years of being lower on the food chain than a rival species!”

“So what did you do?” Mabel prodded.

“Well I couldn’t escape, every attempt proved futile. I couldn’t do much of anything. So I taught instead.” Ford said, smiling. “The cow-people could speak English, so my lessons were conducted almost entirely in Aisgesh, a language previously only known in Dimension 18909. It was slow going at first, but… Eventually, after the cow-people noticed that I wasn’t trying to escape as often (since I was so busy teaching the humans) that they unchained me from the wall.” Ford gave Mabel a sly grin. “Big mistake. After that, I started sneaking into other parts of the-- er, barn.” _There’s really no other way to put it._ “And rallying other humans, educating them, teaching them to fight. To pick locks. They didn’t stand on two legs, which was an interesting workaround but… I suppose I learned _how_ to teach in that universe. Eventually, I’d raised a small army.”

“So you raised an army against the cow people? Was there a huge battle or something?” Mabel asked, on the edge of her seat.

“Not yet.” Ford said. “First, I had to begin Phase 2 of my three phase plan.”

“Well what was Phase 2?” Mabel asked.

“Phase 2 was inventing tiny radio transmitters and convincing the cow people that they actually helped humans fight disease.” Ford said with a smirk. “Within six months I’d made contact with and taught 32,000 other humans, and with that, the rebellion began.”

“Wow, Grunkle Ford. You're like a superhero!” Mabel said. “Were you scared? Did you win? What happened after you won?”

“I was a little scared, but keeping things as they were without trying to change them wasn’t an option.” _I could have wound up on some cow-person’s dinner plate if I wasn’t careful…_ “And we did win, eventually. A year on their planet would be about two here, I believe, so if we’d fought _here_ it would have taken about five years? The upside was that the better at fighting we got, the more intelligent we proved ourselves to be, the less the cow-people were willing to eat us. By the end of the revolution, many cow-people viewed it… almost like cannibalism. After we won, I served as a temporary human ambassador for a few months while the cow-people and the humans worked on rebuilding their world’s infrastructure.” Ford said. “And then I left.”

“That is… So. Cool!” Mabel said, applauding Ford's story.

“R-Really?” Ford cracked a smile as he bit down memories of what exactly those chains had been made of, memories of electricity burning the skin around his neck that still tingled whenever a thunderstorm came through. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“Did you get a cool battle-scar?!” Mabel asked.0

Ford froze, his eyes as wide as saucers. _Why… Why would she want to see something like that?_ “Ah-- er, that is to say… I mean,” Ford took a deep breath. “I’d rather keep that information to myself.”

“Grunkle Stan showed me one of his scars once.” Mabel said, pouting. “It was neat, a little line running down his shoulder. He said it was from a car accident. It feels kinda weird and wrinkly.”

“I, uh… Well…” Ford paused, trying to remember if he’d gotten any scars specifically in battle, if they were near any of-- any of the old, scratched out tattoos of Bill, and whether or not any scar he _did_ receive had gotten covered up by new wounds. “I don’t think I can show you a battle scar, but…” Ford carefully lowered the collar of his turtleneck, just enough for Mabel to make out a scar that seemed to follow the pattern of the nerve endings in Ford’s neck, like lightning. “This one was from one of the shock collars they used to keep me in the barn.”

“ _WOW_!” Mabel gasped. “That's _way_ cooler than Grunkle Stan's scar! You gotta show Dipper, he would love this! It’s so _pretty_!”

“Huh?”

“It looks so pretty, like lighting. It almost looks like a crazy cool tattoo!” Mabel said, beaming. “It would look so neat covered in _glitter._ ”

“What?”

“Hang on, let me see if I have my glitter gel pen in my pocket!” Mabel said, rummaging through her pockets before pulling out a bright purple glitter pen. “May I?”

Ford looked like a deer in headlights, but he didn’t object. “You don’t… you’re not scared? Or worried, or…” _Or disgusted?_ He thought as he knelt down to Mabel’s level, holding the collar of his turtleneck steady as Mabel set to work, taking deep breaths and trying not to flinch when the pen made contact with his skin.

“What? No! It's just a scar. It's cool, proof you've done cool things.” Mabel said as she carefully traced the outline of Ford's scar in bright purple ink, making the white scar stand out. “All old people have scars! Even _I’ve_ got a scar, on my knee from when I tried to jump from the top of the couch to the coffee table when I was seven. Sometimes I put glitter on it too.”

“...Thank you, Mabel.” Ford said.

“Sure!” Mabel said, putting the cap back on her pen and pulling her phone out. “You wanna see it?” She asked as she turned on the front camera, holding it at an angle Ford so could see.

Ford stared at his reflection for a second, before scooping Mabel up in a surprise hug, lifting her up onto his shoulders as best he could. “Thank you, Mabel. You always seem to remind me there’s a little bit of kindness in this dimension, you always remind me what it is I’m fighting for. Things like _this._ ”

“I'm happy you're the one fighting for us, Grunkle Ford. Nobody could be as good at it as you.” Mabel said, returning Ford’s hug full force.

Ford went still, almost about to tell Mabel no, that anyone could do what he was doing and that anyone would do what he was doing, that he was nothing special, a speck fighting against the multiverse. But instead, Ford sighed, hugging Mabel close and relishing in the compliment. “Thank you, Mabel.”

“You're welcome! You can borrow my glitter any time you want to, okay?” Mabel said, hopping down from Ford’s hug.

“I just might have to take you up on that.” Ford said. “Uh, shall we continue knitting?”

“Yes! We shall!” Mabel giggled and picked her knitting needles back up.

After a few hours of knitting with his niece, Ford excused himself, saying he “Had much research to do.” Which was true. He just didn't want to remind her that this research involved him working with the ghost of the person who'd killed Sherman and Alexandria.

Riley was floating aimlessly in the salt circle when Ford walked into the basement, humming to herself. The radio that Ford had left on for her crackled out an old song from the seventies. “Oh, good, you're back!” She said when she noticed Ford. “It's, uh, been a couple of days, I was getting worried.”

“Usually I do spend a lot of time in the basement, but lately…” Ford paused. “I suppose I've been setting aside more time to spend with my family recently. Is the radio working out for you?”

“Oh, yeah, it works! It’s a lot better than nothing, I’ll tell you that.” Riley said. “It gets kinda spooky down here in a small room like this. And I'm a fucking ghost!”

“The basement is actually the biggest--” Ford stopped short, processing what Riley was saying, recalling one particular dimension he'd only been in for a few days, before breaking the salt circle to let her out for the day. “Er… I know what you mean.”

“You do? Wait… is this a multiverse thing? Are you gonna tell me a multiverse thing?!” Riley asked, growing more excited.

Ford sighed. _What harm can it do?_ “Alright, pull up a seat. Or just kinda… float a few inches above the ground, that works too.” Ford said with a wave of his hand, pulling up a chair of his own.

Riley floated close, her from sitting up on can invisible chair. “So what, were you sent to alien prison or something?”

“That’s another story. For another time.” Ford said. “This is the story of the time I was trapped in a dimension about the size of this room.”

“A whole dimension?” Riley asked. “Wait, how is that even _possible_?”

“Oh the concept is actually pretty simple when you get down to it.” Ford said. “I didn’t know this at the time but I was actually trapped in an early version of a microverse battery.”

“A what?”

“Oh you don’t have those in this dimension? They’re essentially a tiny, spatially tessellated universe contained in a temporal field. The small nature of these universes means that time passes more quickly inside a microverse than it does relative to a standard sized universe. This phenomena actually applies to standard universes with only marginal differences in relative size. For example, I fell through the portal in 1982, and yet I’ve encountered dimensions in which the year was only 1975. This discrepancy was caused by the fact that that particular universe was slightly larger than our own. It’s a good thing most universes last a pretty long time, otherwise microverse batteries would be functionally useless and half the multiverse would still be using alkaline batteries, which are horrible for most environments.” Ford said, his face lighting up at explaining the science behind some of his stranger adventures.

“So they create universes out of nothing, and then use the generated energy to power shit? Are there people in these universes?” Riley asked.

“Usually, though it can be done without using what essentially amounts to slavery.” Ford said. “Though, uh, it’s been a while since I dabbled in the energy production field. I haven’t done anything like that since high school.”

“That’s kind of messed up. So you got trapped in one of those things?” Riley asked.

“Yes. It was… pretty harrowing. Normally when a person goes inside a microverse battery they shrink down so that they… you know, fit on the planets?” Ford said. “But, ah… when _my_ portal opened up in that dimension, I remained at my current height relative to the battery. I was, essentially, the biggest thing in the universe. Thank heavens it was an older, much larger model, otherwise I could have been crushed.”

“That’s… terrifying.”

“Most dimensions are if you think about them for more than five seconds.” Ford said. “I was stuck there for… about three days according to my watch, before some poor sap that got stuck doing maintenance on the damn thing got me out. I had to eat planets in order to survive there. And whatever you do, _never_ tell my brother that I had to do that, he’d never let me live it down. There were actually a lot of floating clouds of water and what essentially amounts to raspberry flavored beer out in that microverse, so I didn’t get particularly thirsty. Just drunk.”

“You know, they’ve found that stuff in _our_ space, too.” Riley said. “But I don’t… _think_ you could drink the ones here? If I’m remembering correctly? Wait, how did you breathe?”

“Oh, you see, I had an invention of mine that can convert any gas and most liquids into oxygen!” Ford said, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a scarf, the same one he’d been wearing when he stepped through the portal. “In the vacuum of space, when I exhaled carbon dioxide, the scarf would turn it right back into oxygen!”

“So… you essentially just breathed the same little breath of air for three days?” Riley leaned back, covering her mouth in shock.

“I guess you could say that.” Ford said. “Luckily, warmth wasn’t a problem, since I was so large relative to the galaxies and star systems they just… gravitated towards me? I actually wound up getting burned by some of them.” Ford shook his head. “The point is, I, uh… understand what it’s like to be stuck in a small space. And I should have realized that human psychology would still apply to you even in the afterlife. I can’t let you out of the basement, my niece and nephew’s safety still comes first, but I’ll see what I can do about getting you some books.”

“Wow… Thank you, Ford. I appreciate that.” Riley said. “Cause you really don't have to…”

“No, no… I do.” Ford said. “The less people who have to go through what I went through, the better.”

“Well I don't really count as a person. I killed two people, remember?” Riley said, crossing her arms. “I'm not so sure I deserve it.”

“...You paid for that with your life, though.” Ford said, choosing his words carefully. “More than that, given that the reason you're still here is because you want to fix your mistakes.”

Riley stayed silent, looking away from Ford out of guilt. “I know you're just saying that because you don't want me to get too powerful. I know you want to keep me ‘docile’ or whatever. But I don't care what you say about me, really. I think I only complain ‘cause I'm a stupid teenager. It's like… in my nature or whatever. I guess it doesn't matter.”

“It does matter.” Ford said. “By any court's standards you've paid your debt to society. You might be a ghost, but you're also a teenager. Who, by the way, is not being stupid by complaining about being left alone for several days. I should know more than anyone what isolation feels like. And-- regardless of your opinion on the matter, I think you should know that I consider you a valid part of the world I'm trying to protect.” Ford took a deep breath. “My threat of exorcism still stands, though I doubt you object to it. I made a promise to my family, if they say the word I'll do what must be done. But… I appreciate your help in all this. And you _have_ helped.”

“That's all I'm trying to do. I'm trying to help.” Riley said, slowly looking up at Ford. The black tears in her hollowed out eyes seemed to glow. “I’m just… trying to help.”

“I suppose that’s something we have in common…” Ford said, quietly.

Stan begrudgingly pulled on his coat and some gloves before joining Soos and Wendy out on the porch, intending to walk them _through the damn snow_ to the road where they had parked.

“You know we’re fine, right? It’s just a short walk.” Wendy said, tucking a stray hair underneath her bomber hat.

Stan grunted in response, folding his arms. “I actually wanted to ask you two knuckleheads if you wanted to help out with the holidays. The actual ones, not the part where we scam people out of their money. You know… round out the table at Thanksgiving… help out at Hanukkah.”

“Can I bring Abuelita?” Soos asked, awestruck that Stan was actually inviting them over to celebrate with him. “She makes the _best_ tamales, and my cousins can’t always come up here for the holidays.”

“Yeah, sure, we're gonna need help in the kitchen.” Stan said, smiling just a little bit. “Your Abuelita is always welcome at the Mystery Shack, after everything she’s done for us.”

“I dunno if I can get away from Thanksgiving, my dad usually makes us hunt for our dinner, skin it, it takes the whole day. But I'll be all over Hanukkah.” Wendy said, enjoying the satisfying _crunch_ her boots made against the snow.

“Yeah, don't bring game to our Thanksgiving, I think Mabel would pass out.” Stan said. “And… listen, serious question… do you think one of you could go out and… I dunno, find a Menorah? I, uh, kinda haven’t actually celebrated Hanukkah in years.” _But the kids think I have. The kids deserve a nice, peaceful, normal Hanukkah that I’m not sure I know how to give them._

“I could look online, Mr. Pines, they have everything on the internet.” Soos offered.

“I bet I could make one. I've been practicing my wood carving.”  Wendy said, taking out her pocket knife and twirling it. “Just, uh… pretend that’s a wood carving knife.”

Stan smiled, just a little wider. “Whichever one of you produces the best menorah gets paid for it.” He said. “ _And_ , if it impresses the kids, you get to go home early every day for the whole month of December.”

“You got a deal, old man.” Wendy said, elbowing Soos. “Get ready to lose, Soos.”

“No way, dude.” Soos said, laughing. “I’ve got a secret weapon.”

“I would help you study up on Hanukkah, but it’s been so long, I don't remember how to do it right either.” Stan said, his smile falling from his face. “And I’ll be damned if Ford does. All I can really remember is some old crusty Jewish guys made one night’s worth of oil last for eight, and I can get behind frugality like that.” Stan paused. “But, uh, there’s obviously more to it than that…” He mumbled.

“I'm sure with all of us put together, we can figure it out. I could ask Dipper and Mabel about it and then fill you in later.” Wendy shrugged. “For a fee.”

“You tell me and I _won't_ cut your hours if you win the Menorah thing.” Stan said.

“Extra fifty cents an hour, final offer.” Wendy said.

Stan paused. _It’s for the kids. It’s for Dipper and Mabel._ “...Deal.”

“Sweet.” Wendy said, pausing to firmly shake Stan's hand.

“Do you, uh, need help getting presents and stuff? Cause me and my Abuelita can totally help out with that.” Soos said.

“Uh, yeah, if you want. Don’t worry about getting them anything too fancy, or for all eight nights.” Stan said. “That’s too much money to spend all at once.”

“Okay… Do I have to get them something Jewish-y, or can it be like Christmas?”

Stan chuckled and waved his hand “Just get them something small, a little birthday present or something.”

“Oh, okay! Great!” Soos said as they approached his truck. “And hey, thanks for inviting us over for this!”

“Yeah, don't mention it. Seriously, don't mention it.” Stan said, poking at Soos’ chest.

Stan sighed as he watched Soos and Wendy drive off, putting his hands in his pockets. _Some Hanukkah this is shaping up to be._

Stan slowly walked back towards the Shack, trudging through the snow and trying not to look at the bare, leafless trees around him. The doorknob sent an icy chill down his spine as he entered the gift shop, the knickknacks collecting dust from the months of inactivity. The vending machine made his stomach knot up and his heart ache after staring for too long. _Christ, what’s Ford doing down there? He’s… he’s part of the family he needs to be up here with us._ Stan leaned against the cash register, ignoring the lines in the dust his hands made as a new thought wormed its way into Stan’s head. _He’s not still mad at me about the other day… right? He has every right t--_

A soft scrape along the door snapped Stan out of his thoughts. Through the window in the door, Stan could spot a tuft of goat hair sticking straight up. Gompers whined on the other side, scratching at the door one more, standing on his hind legs in an attempt to see inside. Stan huffed as he opened the door, using the sole of his shoe to keep Gompers from rushing inside.

“Gompers, I’ve made enough excuses for Waddles. You are _not_ coming inside to muck up the house.” Stan said.

Gompers blinked up at Stan, _with his weird goat eyes, uegh, horizontal pupils just never look right_ , his skinny goat legs shaking. A cold breeze blew the door out of Stan's grasp. “Alright, alright, get in here, but you’re not leaving the gift shop!”

Gompers bleated in response, and scurried in and huddled behind the counter for warmth, shaking off bits of frost from his fur.

Stan slammed the door shut and sighed, leaning on the counter. “I hate the winter too, buddy.” He said. “You’re a nuisance, but at least you’re a nuisance with good sense.”

“Who’s a nuisance?” Ford asked, emerging from the vending machine and nearly stepping on poor Gompers in the process. Gompers let out a bleat and skittered behind Stan, who pat the goat on the head to calm him.

“This monster right here.” Stan said, rolling his eyes.

“Mm-hmm. Yes, between the goat and the pig, everyone can just _tell_ you’re not one for pets.” Ford said, smirking.

“I at least get some use out of him, I’ve never had to buy a paper shredder. This thing eats incriminating documents like they’re candy.” Stan laughed.

“And it’s a good thing he does, too.” Ford said, kneeling down and offering his hand for the goat to sniff. “...It’s too cold to keep him out there, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I have a makeshift shelter out there in the cellar, but the door probably froze shut.” Stan said, letting out a small chuckle when Gompers took hold of Ford’s sweater and started chewing.

“Okay, no, stop that, that’s mine.” Ford said, trying to pull away. “I have-- I have fought and killed far more ferocious things than you, you won’t get the best of me.”

“Don’t be too sure, Gompers is a killer.” Stan said. “Honestly, my money’s on the goat.”

Fiddleford poked his head in the door, looking towards the vending machine, and then to Ford. “Hello, Ford, Stan, I didn’t mean to over sleep.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at a--all!” Ford was cut off as Gompers decided that he wanted to be next to Fiddleford… and failed to actually release his hold on Ford’s sweater. Gompers managed to drag Ford halfway across the room before finally spitting out the sweater, nuzzling his head against Fiddleford’s leg for a pat.

“Well, gee, what are you doing inside?” Fiddleford said, getting down on a knee to pet Gompers. “Are you playin’ nice?” He chuckled, seeing Ford laying on the floor, in awe of being dragged around by a goat.

“I’m _tempted_ to make him into Thanksgiving dinner as revenge.” Ford glared. “Save money on turkey.”

“Now, that wouldn’t do, Gompers here is a good pal of mine.” Fiddleford said, allowing Gompers to munch on his own sleeve.

“W-Well… if he means so much to _you_ , then I suppose my vengeance will have to be placed on permanent hiatus.” Ford said, frowning a bit.

“Hey, it’s my goat!” Stan huffed, crossing his arms. “So eating it shouldn’t be on your mind anyways.”

“You must have never had roasted goat before, Stan, far better than turkey.” Ford said, eyeing Gompers. “But I won’t harm a hair on Gompers’ head. He is your pet, after all.”

“Yeah, some pet.” Stan said, not bothering to stop Gompers from eating any leftover merchandise. “Does nothing but eat everything all day long. He’s even worse than Waddles! At least having Waddles around makes Mabel happy.”

Fiddleford pulled a bobblehead out of Gompers’ jaws and set it back on the shelf with a yawn.

“Did you get enough sleep, Fidds?” Ford asked, a little concerned.

“Oh, yes darlin’, I slept just fine. Especially with you to hold onto.” Fiddleford smiled, leaning his head on Fords shoulder.

Ford turned a little red, and pulled Fiddleford in his arms. “The new bed certainly helps, but I always seem to get the best rest with you as well.” He said.

Fiddleford leaned forward for a kiss, until Stan's unconvincing fake coughing startled him, breaking away from Ford's grasp. “Oh! S-sorry. Thank you again, Stan. That bed is the fanciest thing I think I've had in years.”

“That goes double for me, Stan. I can’t thank you enough.” Ford said, smiling a bit. “It’s… the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in a long time. For the both of us.” He added, quietly.

 _Before I pushed him through that damn portal, I hadn't been anywhere nice in… A long time. I pushed him through that damn machine and he's **thanking me**._ Stan took a small step back, flinching a little when Ford reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. _The first time I’d slept in an actual house was-- I was facing the idea that I’d killed my own **brother** , and he’s thanking me for a stolen mattress?! _Stan stayed silent with his racing thoughts, his knuckles white from gripping the counter.

“...Fiddleford, why don’t we keep Gompers in our room today? So he doesn’t eat any more merchandise?” Ford said, quietly, his eyes studying Stanley’s face, recognizing his brother’s tells now that he knew where to look.

“E-er, alright, Ford.” Fiddleford stammered, patting his legs to call Gompers to follow him out of the room. “C’mon, let's go get you situated.”

“...I’ll be there in a sec…” Ford said, halfheartedly, as he slowly moved towards Stan. “What happened? Stanley, if I said something wrong, if I did something to upset you, please… all you need to do is tell me.”

 _I should have left at the end of summer, he doesn’t actually want me here…_ “You didn't do anything. I'm the one who--”

“No, you’re not. Whatever it is, no. You’re not.” Ford said, putting an arm around Stan’s shoulders and pulling him close, placing his free hand next to Stanley’s on the countertop, to let him know that he was there without pulling Stan away from what was grounding him. “You have done so much to help me, Stan, you _saved_ me, you took care of my home, you’ve been taking care of _me._ And I will do the same for you, Stanley, say the word, and I'll do everything in my power to help. Even-- Even at my lowest points, you’ve always been there for me. Let me be there for you.”

“I-- I just… _I_ was the one who pushed you through the portal…” Stan said, still gripping the countertop but refusing to pull away from Ford. “And that got me the only… stable living situation I’ve ever had…”

“Stan…” Ford’s voice was quiet, he spoke so softly Stanley barely caught it.

“M’fine… just lemme give it a few moments to pass…” Stan said, taking a deep breath. “It’ll go away.”

“No, it won’t Stan… I think, if you’re okay with it, you should see a doctor, as quickly as possible.” Ford said.

“I don’t have the time for that, Ford, and I’m gonna have to find a doctor that won’t realize that we’re both sharing one identity because I faked my death like a _moron_.” Stan said, his fingernails making half-moon dents in the countertop.

“Stan--” Ford paused. “Stan, I can’t say it doesn’t pain me to know that you considered faking your own death, but… it was actually a clever idea to assume my identity while you were living here. You didn’t have to, in Gravity Falls whoever is in physical possession of the deed to a house owns it--”

“Yeah, found that out the hard way earlier this summer.” Stan scoffed.

“What I’m saying is… you didn’t ruin your life by faking your own death.” Ford said “N-No one in town knew me, save for Tate. I suppose that worked out for the best, let you assume my identity more easily. And if you’re worried about a doctor realizing we’re sharing one identity, there’s always the memory gun.” Ford said.

“But--”

“Which I suppose we can only use sparingly…” Ford mused. “Unless I pick up where Fiddleford left off and make some adjustments, the gun’s long term effects are still rather dangerous…”

“But--”

“ _And_ , as an incentive, since you seem so intent on making sure I receive adequate mental health care… I won’t be adjusting my prescription until you go in to see a doctor.” Ford finished, folding his arms.

Stan released his grip on the counter and folded his arms, taking a deep breath, thinking Ford’s offer over.

“And… if all else fails, if we really do get stuck because of our current legal standing as, well… each other… I have an alternative solution. It might take a while but… I was thinking of going back to school. Getting a psychology degree.” Ford said. “Adjusting for inflation, between the profits from the Mystery Shack and from Fiddleford’s computer business, it should only take about eight months to save up the money I’d need. And of course, scholarships and grant money should be easy enough to come by.”

“Ford, do you have _any idea_ how much a college education costs these days?” Stan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I told you, I’ve done the math. I haven’t looked into actual tuition prices but, honestly, it’s basic economics.” Ford said. “Why? How much does college tuition cost nowadays?”

“Ah… well, first, how much do you _think_ college costs? That’d be a better question.” Stan said, scratching the back of his head. “Cause, I mean…. Dipper and Mabel are gonna want to go to college, too.”

“The current minimum wage is $7.25, yes? My estimate is around $15,000 a year, should drop down once I bring up my previous college experience--”

Stan slapped his knee, laughing a little too hard.

“Is something funny?” Ford asked, crossing his arms.

“A private school is more than twice that much. Per year. Then there’s books, dorm rooms, food… It’s a fortune.” Stan said, still laughing. “Fifteen grand, HA! If it was that cheap even _I’d_ spring for a degree!”

“Wait… no that’s impossible… labor laws haven’t changed, right? Forty hours is still considered full time? If it’s eighty than that would make sense, the math would add up but…” Ford’s brow knitted in anger. “Stan, even if we started saving right now… we might not be able to send Dipper and Mabel to college, will we?”

Stan simply shook his head, the smile fading from his face. “They’re smart kids… hopefully they’ll get some scholarships.”

“I suppose I could write a letter of recommendation? I, actually… I’m not sure if that would be the best idea. Even if Backupsmore is still around, I can’t say it was a very positive experience.” Ford said. “...I suppose the only solution is to revolt.” Ford said with a sigh. “I have plenty of weaponry at my disposal, you’ve already got the people’s approval--”

“No, Ford, we aren’t revolting. Just… forget about all of that, I’ll go see a doctor, okay?” Stan said, putting a hand on Ford’s shoulder.

“No, no-- Well, yes, you should see a doctor. But no, this is _serious_ , Stan. I’ve seen it before, this is the kind of thing that can make or break an entire species. It’s _important_ , Stan.” Ford’s hand twitched, still trying to get used to the awkward placement of his weaponry now that there was no coat to hide it.

“Okay, well we can… you know... _vote_? Voter fraud is easy, believe me, it’d be a piece of cake for us both to vote next year.” Stan said, guiding Ford’s hand away from the weapon it was searching for.

“I… suppose.” Ford said, slowly. “Are you… are you feeling any better?”

“Yeah… Yeah, a little, thanks. I think I should go sit down and do a little something to calm my nerves, maybe turn on the TV.” Stan said, frowning as he left the gift shop, readjusting his shirt.

“D-Do you mind if… I join you?”

“Huh? No, I don’t care, go ahead.” Stan said. “But I get the recliner.”

Ford followed Stan into the TV room, reaching behind the recliner where his knitting work from earlier that day sat. He took a seat on the floor next to the recliner and resumed his careful knitting work.

“Woah, you picked that up quick!” Stan said, grinning. “I just might bust out my sewing stuff too.” He reached into the mouth of the giant skull he used as a table and pulled out an embroidery hoop, with the words _I put the fun in no refunds_ lovingly stitched onto the fabric, bordered with small flowers. “I’m gonna put this on a pillow.”

Ford laughed, “No, you should frame that and put it up in the gift shop. Replace that old sign you’ve got near the register.” He said.

“You know what? I like that, good idea.”

“I… ah, speaking of frames…” Ford began, slowly. “Stan, I-I was wondering… when you grabbed my coat, did you happen upon an old photograph in one of the pockets?” _He and Mabel cut it into strips to make the scarf, what if they didn’t notice the photo until they took some scissors to the coat? What if it’s been destroyed and they chose not to tell me? What if--_

“No, I didn’t see one. We emptied out all the junk we could before we started washin’ and mending it… I’m sorry, Ford. We can keep an eye out for it. What did it look like?” Stan asked, adding some detail work to the embroidered flowers.

“It was… it was from Glass Shard Beach, when we were about Dipper and Mabel’s age. We were on the Stan O’ War.” Ford said, quietly. “Just forget it, it’ll be alright...”

* * *

 

Sherry Abrams was a quiet, well to-do woman who often worked from home, a… recently acquired house in San Francisco, painted a baby blue and squished between the others, with a small yard out back. The move to San Francisco was a big one, the city new to her, far away from her original home in New Mexico, though the move was a necessity. It seemed so troublesome just to find a place to get a cup of coffee, someplace on the other side of town that didn’t remind Sherry of… well, of someone she’d lost recently.

Someone who’d married a man named Sherman Pines.

Leah Summerfield worked at a coffee shop, a local chain that had a few locations around San Francisco but nowhere else. It was a nice distraction from school, from home, from loss. It was never enough, but… it was something, at least. It was better than returning to cheer practice, better than seeing the empty spot on the bleachers where Riley O’Connell usually sat.

She’d died in a car crash.

Her parents didn’t put the right gender in her obituary.

They didn’t mark her grave.

The only good thing they did was leave a box full of Riley’s things on the curb, where Leah found them before they could be thrown out.

Leah hadn’t noticed when a middle aged woman old enough to be her grandmother started coming into the coffee shop, just after Riley passed. She didn’t particularly care. The woman kept her order simple, didn’t confuse the coffee shop with the Starbucks down the street, and tipped well enough. That was good enough for Leah.

But today… it looked like the woman in the corner who seemed to order a black coffee every time she came in needed someone to talk to. And Leah was done with her shift and had no desire to return home anytime soon. She poured herself a cup of coffee and took off her apron as she approached the table where a pensive Sherry sat.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” Leah asked.

“Oh! Er, yes, do you need this table...?” Sherry said, looking up from her coffee, which had long since grown cold.

“Not… not particularly. I just… You looked like you could use some company.” Leah said. “And I’m off work so… If you want me to leave, I will, I just…”

“No! Please, take a seat. It’s sweet of you to think of me.” Sherry said. “...I guess you’re right about me needing some company. Everything’s so different here and I haven’t gotten the feel of the city yet. And I haven’t had much time to socialize.”

“Yeah, it’s really crowded here, I’m lucky I grew up here. When did you move?” Leah asked, slowly sipping her drink.

“...September 15th.” Sherry said, slowly, the date forever fresh in her mind but hesitant to say it out loud. “I’m taking care of my late niece's house.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Leah gasped softly, placing her hand over Sherry’s. “I recently lost someone close to me as well.”

“I’m sorry.” Sherry said, giving Leah’s hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re so young… you shouldn’t be having to go through that.”

Leah gripped Sherry’s hand, sniffling. “Nobody should.” She said, softly.

“Are you alright?” Sherry asked.

“I don’t know.”

“...I suppose we’re in the same boat, then.” Sherry smiled softly, though it didn’t reach her eyes.

Leah and Sherry sat at their table for a few hours, chatting, sharing stories, talking about loss. Sherry resolved to visit the coffee shop on the corner more often, hoping it would take the edge off of losing her niece, of losing four members of her family she’d never met and wouldn’t get to meet for a long time. _I wonder if they got that package I sent… I should probably call them to check._

Leah took the bus home, walking straight through the front door and out the back one, crossing the small yard to the makeshift headstone she’d put up for Riley.

She sat there until dark.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And before anyone freaks out about the whole "Ford was the size of a galaxy and also ate planets" thing: we wrote that part before the finale aired, we had no idea that Super Fordio Galaxy sequence was going to involve Bill and his pals literally eating planets. This is not going to turn into a One of Us AU.
> 
> Also, yes, that was a Rick and Morty reference.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> (the-stan-twin.tumblr.com and the-ford-twin.tumblr.com)


	23. Gravity Splattoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6-15-18-4 9-19 1 13-1-19-20-5-18 15-6 3-15-19-13-5-20-9-3-19 9-14 20-8-18-5-5 4-9-6-6-5-18-5-14-20 4-9-13-5-14-19-9-15-14-19. 20-8-9-19 4-9-13-5-14-19-9-15-14 9-19 14-15-20 15-14-5 15-6 20-8-5-13.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: Shakedown isn't on hiatus, it's just a lot shorter than we thought it would be (overall, the chapters are slowly getting longer but the story itself is getting pretty close to its conclusion) so we can actually afford not to post both at the same time every time we update. Also, we are officially in The Winter Holiday Gauntlet Even Though It's Currently Spring so Get Ready.

Stan grumbled as he pushed his way past another person standing in the middle of the tiny grocery store aisle, using his cart as a battering ram. Dipper and Mabel stood at the end of the cart, hanging onto it and laughing as they were shoved past crowds of people. “Okay, gremlins, read the grocery list to me.” Stan said, swerving the cart into the next aisle.

Dipper pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it, clearing his throat. “ _Ahem._ Turkey, cranberries, bread, cheese, pie crust, fillings, and green beans.”

“Can we get cereal too? I'm almost out. Oh, and I think we're out of milk!” Mabel added

“Jeez, who made this list?” Stan muttered, grabbing a few cans of green beans from the shelf and throwing them in the cart.

“You did.” Dipper said, stifling a laugh.

Stan heaved a sigh, trying to ignore the buzz of last minute Thanksgiving shoppers around him. “Uh, anything you kids like for Thanksgiving?”

“Uh… Oh! Mom used to make this really good stuffing, I think I have her recipe.” Mabel said. “We should need breadcrumbs, toast, cornbread, sage…”

“And Dad always smoked the turkey, but however we can do it will be just as good.” Dipper added.

“Wow… Um, I'm sure we'll get all of that figured out, kids.” Stan said, almost running into another customer. _We'll be lucky if I can even get something on the table this year._ Stan thought, fumbling for his cell phone. “Here, let me call Ford real quick. Cooking over a fire is more his thing, you know?”

Ford didn’t pick up the house phone until the third ring, answering with a gruff, intimidating, “Hello, Pines residence.”

“Ford, it’s just me. I really gotta get caller ID.” Stan said. _His voice sounds so different over the phone than it did thirty years ago…_ “Listen, uh, the kids want to know if you’d be able to… smoke the turkey for tomorrow?”

“Oh! Over a fire? I'm sure I can figure that out.” Ford said, his tone lighter. “ _Fidds have you ever smoked meat before?”_ He called, holding the phone away from his face. “Don’t worry, Stan, as long as you get the turkey, we’ll be all set over here. Is… Is everything okay over on your end? You sound, um, worried.”

“Yeah… It's a madhouse in the da-- darn store. I had to take a loaf of bread from some old lady’s cart.”

“Stan!”

“She had five loaves, she had _plenty._ ” Stan said, waving his hand despite the fact that Ford couldn’t see.

“Just don’t… get yourself in trouble, okay.” Ford said. “Uh, Fiddleford and I are finding plenty in the house. Between what Fiddleford’s found in the cabinets and what I’ve got from the forest, you can scratch pie filling, milk, and green beans from the list.” Ford added.

“Did you check the expiration dates?” Stan asked. “I know you don’t care about that stuff, but--”

“Yes. I checked the expiration dates, everything’s still fresh. The milk may or may not be from a suspiciously bumper-stickered eight legged cow I found wandering around in the forest, but everything’s fresh.” Ford said.

“I’ll get more milk then.” Stan said. “Do you want anything while I’m here?”

“I-- er, no thank you, Stan. Whatever you get will be sufficient. Um… I-I think Fiddleford would like a chocolate bar, if it’s not too much trouble.” Ford stammered. “But honestly, don’t worry about me.”

“You’ve got it. If I don’t get ran over by some insane shopper, we should be home in half an hour.” Stan said.

“W-wait, is it really that bad down there?” Ford asked.

“It’s insane, I’m glad you stayed home.” Stan said, “Kids, just climb in the cart, this is getting ridiculous.”

“Maybe I should come get the kids… if it’s as bad as you say…”

“Stanford, they’re fine. They’re from San Francisco, they’re used to it. The only person the crowd would really bother is… well, is you.” Stan finished, quietly.

“Oh. W-well… take your time. I’ll be here. Bye.” Ford said, before slowly hanging up the phone, a sigh escaping his lips. _Okay, smoked turkey. You can do this. You might have to build your own smoker but you can do this._

As soon as Ford walked away from the phone, it rang again, making him jump. _Shit, Stan, if you wanted to keep talking you could have said something._ Ford picked up the phone, fully expecting it to be Stanley.

“Hello? Stan, is there something wrong?” Ford asked.

“Hello? N-no, this is Jill…” A feminine voice spoke from the other end, most definitely not Stan. “ _Hon, did you give me the wrong number?”_

“How did you get this number? Why are you calling?” Ford asked, a little harshly. “Er… The Mystery Shack won't be open again until December, if that's what this is about.”

“Hold on, is this Stanford?” The woman on the end of the line asked.

“Stanford Pines, PhD.” Ford said. “Who is this?”

“Oh! I’m sorry, Jill McGucket! I’m lookin’ to speak with Fiddleford?”

“Oh, _oh,_ you're Tate’s wife!” Ford said, growing more relaxed. “Yes, yes he's in the kitchen, I'll get him for you.” He held his hand to the receiver and called “ _Fidds! The phone is for you!”_

“Thank you, no rush.” Jill replied, a hint of a laugh in her tone. “You’re really formal over the phone. When Fiddleford said you were a genius I should’a figured!”

“H-huh? Oh, why thank you, Jill. I suppose formality is just an old habit of mine.” Ford said, blushing. “...He really said I was a genius?”

“Yes, he speaks very highly of you.” Jill said, causing Ford's face to go beet red.

“I-I’ll put him on for you, Jill. I-It was nice talking to you, I hope we get to meet in person in the near future.” Ford stammered, waving Fiddleford into the living room from the kitchen.

Fiddleford shuffled into the room and smiled as he took the phone from Ford. “Thank you, dear.” He said, before putting the phone up to his mouth. “Howdy! Oh, Jill! I reckon you made poor Stanford redder than a ripe tomato in summer.”

“Hello, Fiddleford, I didn’t mean to cause a fuss.” Jill said, laughing. “Now, what are your plans for Thanksgiving tomorrow?”

“Oh, well… I was actually gonna spend the day with the Pines.” Fiddleford said, tugging at his beard. “I ain't had a proper Thanksgiving in a while, but we're gonna smoke a turkey an’ have us a little get together.”

“That sounds wonderful! I was actually gonna call you and ask if you wanted to come spend the holiday with us, but it seems you have yer own plans.”

“Oh! No, I would love to-- How about the two of you come over and join us? I'll have to ask Ford if it's be alright--”

“Whatever it is, the answer is yes unless it involves giant robots.” Ford interrupted, having overhead Fiddleford's half of the conversation from the kitchen. “You don't… you don't need to ask permission or anything.” He added.

“Ford says it’s okay! We would love to have you an’ Tate over, you can meet the kids, meet Stanford…”

“Oh I'd love to! He sounds like a delight, and Tate’s had nothin’ but good things to say about those kiddos.” Jill said. “We'll bring a few dishes, too. I hope y'all like cornbread.”

“You don’t have to bring nothin’! Just bring yerselves. I think supper’ll start at four o'clock tomorrow.” Fiddleford said, smiling wide.

“Well, we’ll be there, an’ you can’t talk us outta bringin’ food.” Jill said. “Oh, is there anythin’ the Pines are allergic to? Or just plum won’t eat?”

“Well, sometimes the kids stay kosher, but Stan and Ford usually break those rules. Ford will eat just about anythin’, as long as he don’ have a reason to think it’s been poisoned. So whatever you bring, somebody will eat it.” Fiddleford said.

“Alright, if you say so. We’ll see you then, Fiddleford, take care of yourself!” Jill said before she hung up.

“Okay, then! I can hardly wait!” Fiddleford said, just before Jill ended the call.

“So I take it we need to find some more chairs?” Ford asked, poking his head into the living room.

“At least two more!” Fiddleford said, setting the phone down gently. “I’m so happy, my little Tater Tot’s comin’ over for Thanksgiving supper!”

“It’ll be nice to see him again.” Ford said. “I can’t believe you still call him Tater-Tot.”

“He’s still my little tater tot, no matter how big he really is.” Fiddleford said, waving his hand. “I gotta make up for all of the years I didn't get to baby him.”

“...Fiddleford, can I ask you something strange?” Ford said, taking a seat on the recliner.

“Strange? Comin’ from you? That’s a surprise.” Fiddleford teased. “Go ahead.”

“Do you think I’m strange?” Ford asked. “No, no, wait, that wasn’t the question, I-- I wanted to know what it was like for you when Tate was younger.”

“When Tate has younger…? Well, as a baby, when his mother and I were still married, it was easy. Easier, at least. It was a little harder once I got divorced and moved, but every moment I got with him was special. Why do you ask?” Fiddleford said.

“I… I suppose I'm just worried, is all. The last time I've really been in a position to raise anything was with the Shapeshifter. And that didn't exactly turn out well.” Ford said. “I just… I don't want to fail Dipper and Mabel. I don't want to repeat the mistakes I made back then…”

“Oh, Ford, Shiftie was completely different, he's a different species! He might have been able to carry a conversation, but a critter is a critter no matter how smart. Shiftie had different instincts than us an’ it didn't do any good to try an’ change that. Yer doin’ just fine with the kiddos.” Fiddleford said, placing a hand on Ford's shoulder.

“...You weren't there when I realized that I had to cryogenically freeze him.” Ford said, pausing for a moment.

“I'm not going to let you freeze the children, Stanford.”

“No, I could _never_ do that to them-- I… I never wanted to do that to the Shapeshifter.” Ford paused, looking away. “R-remember when I was telling you about Bill… about what he did? I was panicking, I was being vague… I… Once, before I had the metal plate installed in my head, Bill possessed me in front of the Shapeshifter. A-After that… after _I_ got him exposed to the dark, weird road I travel… Well, he became dangerous. And I worry that I won't be able to protect the kids from that kind of danger forever.”

Fiddleford placed his hand on Ford's cheek to soothe him, taking a deep breath. “Darlin’, these are very different situations. You were in a different place. These kids are good kids, the complete opposite of that shapeshiftin’ critter.”

“I don't even know the first thing about domesticity.” Ford said, slowly wrapping his arm around Fiddleford's waist, pulling him close. “I just… I don't want to fail them. I can't replace Sherman and Alexandria, none of us can, I just… I want to be there for them. At least until I can get their parents back.”

“Nobody could replace their mom and dad… But they love you, and you love them. You protect them. You're doing just fine. I may not be a good father, but I know you can be a great uncle. You were always so good with Tate as a youngin’...” Fiddleford said.

“...You really think so?” Ford asked, raising an eyebrow and giving Fiddleford a crooked smile.

“I know so.” Fiddleford smiled back, stroking Ford's cheek with his thumb.

“...S-so, follow up questions… What's Jill like? And what on earth should we do about smoking a turkey for dinner tomorrow?” Ford said, a bit awkwardly. His face flushed under Fiddleford's touch.

“Yer wantin’ to smoke the turkey? I made myself a smoker for squirrel meat back at the junkyard, I think it's big enough for a turkey! We can go an’ get it, I'll tell you about Jill on the way.” Fiddleford said, stroking his beard.

“Sounds like a plan. Er, let me leave Stan a note so he doesn’t worry while we’re gone.” Ford said, smiling softly.

The junkyard seemed remarkably… empty, now that Fiddleford was no longer living in it. The shanty house he’d built for himself was still standing, despite the fact that some portions of the roof (if it could really be called that) were caved in from snow.

“Is it strange that this place… feels sort of like home?” Fiddleford asked himself as he jumped the fence.

Ford heaved a sigh, following Fiddleford over the chain-link fence. “I don’t think so… I-I think if I ever saw a few other dimensions I was trapped in again… I’d feel a little at home, too. Though… I suppose the fact that _I_ sympathize could make it _inherently_ strange...”

Fiddleford tuned Ford out, looking around the junkyard like it was in fact his home. The words _McSuckit_ were still emblazoned on the side of his scrap metal house, in bright, eye catching fuchsia. “I reckon it’s back behind here. Come on in, should still be enough room fer two.” Fiddleford said, walking through the sheet that covered the doorframe, waving Ford to follow.

Ford stepped carefully inside, stooping to fit under the low ceiling. Against all odds, he found himself thinking that the hovel was a halfway decent place to stay. _Plenty of parts, I could easily fashion weapons out of some of these, decent shelter--_ Ford shook his head, horrified at the thought. _It was terrible that Fiddleford had to live here. Of course it was. And I’d have done everything in my power to prevent it had I been here… and yet…_ “This is a nice shelter--” Ford clasped a hand over his mouth as he unwittingly voiced his final thought.

“Well…. Thank you. I reckon it makes the shack look like the Ritz. I'm… So thankful I'm not livin’ like this anymore.” Fiddleford said. _Did it really used to be this… small?_

“I-- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” Ford stammered. “I just… it’s amazing that you built this yourself. I wouldn’t want you living here at all, not if I can help it, but it’s _impressive_ that you were able to build something like this.” _I used caves and hollowed out trees as shelter, even when I had a roof over my head I was always squatting, I never **built** a shelter except when absolutely necessary_.

“Thank you. I like to think I learned a lot from goin' out campin’ with you back in the day. Even if I could never quite remember it.” Fiddleford said as he shoved scrap metal and garbage aside. Fiddleford dragged a contraption to the center of the small room, a large metal trash can welded to part of a shopping cart grate, a pretty good pass for an outdoor smoker. “Think this’ll work?” He asked.

“Yes, I think that should do just fine. Stan probably won’t spring for a larger turkey, so we should have no problem getting it to fit inside.” Ford said. “Thank you for helping me with this.

“Well, of course, Ford. It’s for the family.” Fiddleford said, smiling wide. “Now, can you lift the wider end so we can carry this back to the shack?”

“Fiddleford, I’m so glad I’ll be able to spend Thanksgiving with you again. With Stanley again. And with the kids, and Tate, and Jill.” Ford said, his voice quiet as he knelt to pick up one end of the smoker.

Fiddleford lifted his end, wincing silently as his back popped.

“Fiddleford? Are you alright?” Ford asked.

“Don’t you worry about me!” Fiddleford said. “Come on, it’s a ways to get back to the shack.”

“Surely there’s an easier way. An old shopping cart or a wagon we could use.” Ford said. “Heck, I can carry this, it’s not too heavy. Just don’t-- don’t hurt yourself, okay?”

Fiddleford frowned and lifted up his end. “I've got it, it’s okay!’

“...Are you sure?” Ford asked, carefully starting to back his way out of the makeshift shelter.

Fiddleford paused for a second to catch his breath and shook his head. “M-maybe you should--” Fiddleford was cut short as Ford hefted the smoker up, balancing the weight close to his chest.

“Alright then.” Ford said. “You’ll have to guide me, I can’t see too well around this thing, but I’m more than capable of carrying it back to the Shack.”

“I'm sorry, Stanford.” Fiddleford said, guiding Ford out of the dump.

“Don’t be.” Ford said, simply, peering down at Fiddleford from over the edge of the smoker. “I’m not going to let you hurt yourself trying to lift this thing.”

Fiddleford smiled, gently taking hold of Ford’s shirt sleeve to guide him out of the dump.

Stan huffed as he lifted the turkey out of the trunk. “This thing is fourteen pounds of frozen nightmares, shaped like a bird.” He grumbled.

“I’m surprised they had any turkeys left.” Dipper said, holding two bags of groceries, waiting for Stan to unlock the house. “Did you see that lady in the fur coat? I thought for sure she was going to strangle somebody over cranberry sauce.”

“Yeah, and nobody even likes that stuff.” Mabel shrugged. “I think we lucked out.”

“ _I_ like the cranberry sauce, so you're lucky your Grunkle Stan wrestled one of those cans away from the monster in the fur.” Stan said, opening the door. “Ford, Fiddlenerd, we’re back!” He called out, into an empty Shack.

Dipper reached on his tiptoes to put the groceries away in the cabinet, trying his best to keep everything organized, but giving up halfway through and just concentrating on making everything fit. “They might have gone somewhere.” Dipper called. “There’s a note here on the counter in Ford’s handwriting.”

“Alright,” Stan grumbled, rearranging the refrigerator so the turkey would actually fit inside. _This is gonna be a lousy Thanksgiving, we only wound up with half of the ingredients we need!_ “Alright, whatever, I’ll look at it in a second.”

“It says he and McGucket went to the dump.” Mabel said, grabbing the note and dropping her own bags of groceries on the floor. “Oh, and there’s a cute little drawing of him, McGucket and a turkey on it! Grunkle Ford is a good artist.” Mabel mused, hanging the note on the refrigerator.

“Er, hey, who do you think makes all the attractions for the Shack?” Stan said, tousling Mabel’s hair. “Ford might have his fancy pens, but your Grunkle Stan has a knack for knick knacks!”

“That's one way to look at it.” Dipper chuckled. “I guess that kind of stuff runs in the family?”

“I dunno.” Stan shrugged. “Now, where’s the recipe for the stuffing you were talking about, Mabel?”

“I have it in a book upstairs, hold on!” Mabel said, running up the stairs.

“Aaand she left us to put the groceries away.” Dipper deadpanned.

“I'm going to have to re-do it all later, put everything in the right place, don't sweat it.” Stan said, pausing as the landline phone rang through the house. “I’ll get it.” He huffed, walking into the living room. “This is the Mystery Shack, Mr. Mystery speaking. Whaddya want?”

“Uh… Is the one i-in Gravity Falls? I'm looking for Dipper Pines?” A small voice came through the other end of the line, cracking from the throes of puberty, changing octaves at random.

“Sure thing. Who is this?” Stan asked, picking at his dentures as he spoke.

“Jason Crampelter? Is this Dipper's uncle?” Jason asked.

Stan had to stop himself from laughing at the irony, vaguely recalling hearing the name Crampelter at Dipper and Mabel’s Bat Mitzvah. “Yeah, this is Stan--ley Pines. Dipper’s uncle, Stanley Pines. Hang on a sec, I’ll get Dipper for you.”

Dipper looked up from his journal, where he’d been trying to fill out some of the entries, at the kitchen table. “Who is it?”

“It’s your little friend, from San Francisco. Jason.” Stan said, holding out the phone to Dipper.

Dipper jumped up from the table and rushed to the phone. “Jason! Dude, why haven't you called?”

“You know I don't have a cell phone, I've been looking on Google for days to find the right number!”

“I'll give you my new cell phone number, it'll be easier.” Dipper said, hastily giving Jason his number. “I-I thought you just didn’t want to talk to me.”

“What? No! I… I thought you would need some time to get used to stuff… I'm really sorry. I should have tried to call sooner. I just wanted to wish you a happy early Thanksgiving.” Jason said. “It’s… really boring without you here. D, D, and More D isn’t the same.”

“I miss San Francisco a lot. School here is different. The classes here are behind where they were in San Francisco, and I don't have a lot of friends… Mabel got along just fine, she's got a million friends. And a girlfriend.”

“Woah. I'm sorry Dipper… I talked to my parents and they said they'd think about letting me visit you in the summer. You could show me the journals and all of the cool stuff in the forest?” Jason asked.

“Oh yeah, yeah of course! My Great Uncle Ford and I could give you the grand tour!” Dipper said, a smile on his face. “I-- I think my uncles would want to talk to your parents first, but it’d be great if you could visit!”

“Well… Happy Thanksgiving, Dipper.” Jason said, a bit awkwardly.

“Er, happy Thanksgiving, Jason.” Dipper said. “I’ll email you some pictures of the stuff in the forest, okay?”

“Okay!” Jason said, before hanging up the phone with a tentative ‘goodbye.’

Dipper slowly put the phone back on the receiver, after waiting ten seconds to make sure Jason had really hung up the phone.

Mabel cave back down with a huge book labeled ‘Pines family recipes’ in hand. “I found it!” She proclaimed, coming to a halt in front of Dipper. “Was there someone on the phone?”

“It was Jason, he said he's going to ask his parents about coming up here this summer!” Dipper said, growing more excited just thinking about it. “Wouldn’t that be awesome?!”

Mabel grinned wide, setting her book down. “It would! He could meet all of our friends here, we could show him the town. And we could show him the forest, he likes all that weird nerd stuff!”

“I'm really relieved. I thought he forgot about me.” Dipper said. “But he just wanted to give us some space.”

“Well of course he didn’t forget about you, dumdum.” Mabel said, playfully punching Dipper’s arm. “He’s your friend, he’s not gonna drop off the face of the earth without an explanation.”

Dipper and Mabel jumped when they heard Fiddleford attempting to unlock the front door Shack, punctuated with ‘dagnabit’s from Fiddleford and a gentle ‘the lock shifts a little bit in the cold, try pulling the knob closer to you when you turn the key’ from Stanford.

Dipper ran to the door to help, unlocking it and pulling it open. Fiddleford and Ford almost fell forward, the latter nearly dropping Fiddleford’s makeshift smoker in the process.

“Sorry! You alright, my boy?” Ford asked, setting the smoker down and giving Dipper a quick once-over.

“Yeah, I'm okay-- is that a smoker? Made out of a trash can?” Dipper asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Er, yes.” Ford said. “We’re going to use it to smoke the turkey tomorrow.”

“Really?” Dipper said, a huge smile on his face.

“Yer darn tootin’ we are!” Fiddleford said. “If you kiddos say you want a smoked turkey, by golly we’ll get ya a smoked turkey.”

Dipper wrapped his skinny arms around Fiddleford, squeezing him in a big hug. “Thank you.”

Mabel joined in, pulling Ford into the group hug as well. “Thank you thank you thank you!” She squealed, earning a soft chuckle from Stanford.

“Anytime, kids.” Ford said. “Here, why don’t you two go run along, and I’ll see if Stan needs help with the groceries?”

“Alright.” Mabel said, handing Ford her big pink recipe book. “Here, give this to Grunkle Stan! I bookmarked the recipe for the stuffing.”

“Sure thing, Mabel.” Ford said, taking the book and heading into the kitchen. “Stanley? You in here?”

Stan huffed, organizing the canned foods in the pantry. “Yeah, I'm in here, what do you want?”

“Fidds and I got the smoker, Mabel found the recipe for the stuffing, and I wanted to let you know that Tate and Jill are also coming for dinner.” Ford said, placing Mabel’s recipe book on the counter top. “Do you need any help with that?”

“Yeah, can you make food appear out of thin air?” Stan asked. “We barely even have enough for us, Soos and Abuelita, what made you think inviting Tate and Jill would be a good idea?”

“Stan, I can go out and hunt something if need be, from what I gathered, Tate and Jill are going to bring a few dishes, and even if they weren’t, they’re… they’re family too.” Ford said. “Or at least, they are to me.” He added, quietly.

Stan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I'm sorry… Money is a little tight, and I'm just worried. I want the kids to have enough. They're used to a certain lifestyle that I don’t think we can keep up for much longer. We’ve almost exhausted the money I had saved up fixin’ your room, and--”

“Stan, let me hunt take care of groceries for the next few weeks then. Let me take care of repairs around the house, and-- and if it comes to it, I’d much rather you see a doctor _first_ , before I go in to bring up a change in prescription.” Ford said. “If there’s anything you want or need me to do to help out, just say the word.” Ford paused, mulling something over in his head. “...I think it’s time I officially moved the Shack off the grid. Got rid of the electricity bill altogether. I-If it’s alright with you, of course…”

“Get rid of the electricity, are you nuts?” Stan asked.

“No, we’d still have electricity, I just-- I mean…” Ford knew he had to tread carefully here, one wrong step and Stan could become upset. “...You know, I never could bring myself to rebuild that old perpetual motion machine. But if money’s as tight as you say, supplying our _own_ power makes more sense than using a service.”

“Look, I'm fine with saving a few bucks and breaking a few laws. I just… I wanna keep stuff as safe as I can while the kids are around.” Stan said.

“There are backup generators in the basement already. They run on gasoline, but it shouldn’t be too difficult or too risky to repurpose them for everyday use.” Ford said. “Using the same technology I used to build the perpetual motion machine, we’d never have to worry about electricity again.”

“You'd really do that, Ford?”

“Of course I would, knucklehead.” Ford said, gesturing to the kitchen’s light fixture. “The whole reason I made that lightbulb capable of lasting one thousand years was… because I didn’t want you to have to worry about it again. And I can make more of those, put them up around the house. I probably should have thought of it sooner, now that I mention it.”

“Ford, I don't know what to say… Thanks.” Stan said, smiling softly. “This-- this is a huge load off my shoulders, you have no idea--”

“I think I do. At least a little bit.” Ford said, taking Stan’s hand. “The exact specifics of poverty might have varied across dimensions, but I _do_ know where you’re coming from on this.”

Stan squeezed Ford’s hand and pulled him in for a quick hug. “C’mere, poindexter. Thanks, this really means a lot to me.”

Mabel dragged a plastic tub full of art supplies to the table, heaving it up to set it down with a deep breath. “Whoo! I need to use up all of this stuff.”

“Whatcha got there, pumpkin?” Stan asked, breaking his and Ford’s hug.

“I’m going to make decorations for the table tomorrow, hand turkeys, little leaves, maybe some festive hats. We’ll see how much construction paper I have.” Mabel said, rolling up her sleeves and pulling out all of her paints. “Wanna help?”

“Of course, sweetheart.” Stan said, taking a seat.

Ford instinctively put his hands behind his back, clearing his throat. “I should go see if Fiddleford’s okay, I think he hurt his back while we were at the dump.” He said. “But I’m sure your decorations will turn out lovely, Mabel.”

“Are you sure? You would make some really cool turkeys with your fingers, Grunkle Ford! They would look really, _really_ neat!” Mabel said, using her puppy eyes.

“Mabel that’s not fair, you know I can’t resist the puppy eyes.” Ford said, holding his hands up in surrender, sparing a glance at Stan, whose face practically screamed _if you don’t help our niece with her decorations, poindexter, I’m going to bop you on your big nerdy head_.

Ford sat at the table, following Mabel’s lead and rolling up his sleeves. “Alright… how does one go about making ‘festive hats’?”

“Hats might be a little advanced, Grunkle Ford, let’s start off with turkeys.” Mabel said “You trace your hand, and your thumb is the turkey head, and your fingers are feathers! I can cut them out and string them up above the table.” She said, handing Ford a stack of construction paper.

Ford bit down the urge to inform Mabel that despite his travels he was still aware of the concept of hand turkeys, and tentatively placed his hand on the construction paper. _This isn’t anything bad, she’s not stringing them up to mock them, it’s Mabel we’re talking about. And if you don’t do this, Dipper could find out and then you’d set him back again. Don’t push them away._

“Sometimes I’m not so good at tracing, so I paint my hand and press it on the paper, it looks really neat that way.” Mabel said, dipping her fingers in different paints. “Plus sometimes it makes a neat splatter!” She said, slamming her hand onto the table, sending a few droplets of paint flying.

“I could draw you as many realistic turkeys as you like, Mabel.” Ford offered, picking up a pencil.

“They’re special this way… everyone’s hands are different, so all the turkeys are different.” Mabel said. Ford paused, instinctively waiting to hear a ‘ _your hands are especially different_ ,’ or something similar, before reminding himself that it would never come. “Why don’t you give it a try?” Mabel said, gently pushing some paints towards Ford.

“Uh, I-- Well…”

“Ford, would ya quit stalling? I’ve made seven turkeys already.” Stan grumbled, paint all over his hands _and_ face.

“Okay, okay! Fine… okay, just show me what I need to do.” Ford pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand, as Mabel began dipping Ford’s fingers in paint.

“These colors are so pretty, aren’t they? Finger painting is so underrated.” Mabel said. “I, of course, am a master of this medium.” She said, grabbing a brush. “Okay now hold still, I’m gonna give your turkey a beak and a wing. If we have enough time before the paint dries I can add some stripes!”

“They are quite pretty…” Ford said, a smile growing on his face slowly.

“How about some glitter too?” Mabel asked, putting the finishing touches on Ford’s hand turkey.

Ford laughed, wiggling his fingers, enjoying the weird sensation of paint on his skin. “Of course, Mabel. I trust your artistic vision.”

“Good! Now slap that hand turkey on the paper!” Mabel said, returning Ford’s smile full force.

Ford gently pressed his hand onto the paper and grinned when he pulled it away. “Wow, that really does look good. You did an excellent job, Mabel.” He said.

“We’re not done yet!” Mabel said. “Grunkle Stan, can you hand me that glitter pen?”

Stan looked up from his tenth turkey, which he was, despite all odds and attempts to hide it, decorating with glitter. “Uh sure, wasn’t usin’ it anyways.” He said, tossing the glitter pen to Mabel.

Mabel rolled her eyes. “Sure, Grunkle Stan.”

“What he hasn’t told you is that when we were ten, he used to make the whole family Hanukkah cards that were _covered_ in glitter. He thought it made it look more like buried treasure.” Ford said, folding his arms, not realizing that the paint on his hand was still wet, staining his sweater with red, orange, and yellow paint.

“It did! I mostly used it because Dad hated the stuff.” Stan said. “And only now do I understand why, it gets _everywhere_!”

“Mm-hmm. Sure.” Ford and Mabel said, sharing a look.

Mabel began cutting out the turkeys they had all made, punching tiny holes on each end to thread them all together with.

“Mabel! I found more craft stuff!” Dipper called, running downstairs with a large stack of construction paper.

“Thanks, Dippin’ Dots! Hey, check out Ford’s hand turkey!” Mabel said, holding up the turkey in question. “And Grunkle Stan’s made a bunch, too!”

“Wow, Grunkle Ford, that looks awesome.” Dipper said, grabbing the turkey and admiring it, noting that Ford had decorated it with a few glitter stars. “Can I make one, too?”

“Sure, go ahead!” Mabel said, tossing a little jug of paint to Dipper. “The Shack is gonna look awesome for Thanksgiving!”

“Yeah, these are pretty cute.” Dipper said, smiling. “Mabel, are you going to see Pacifica this week? You guys haven't hung out all through the break, I’m surprised you aren’t on your phone with her right now.” Dipper set to making his hand turkeys, adding a sixth ‘feather’ without a second thought.

“Her parents are being stupid again, I might have to wait for the weekend.” Mabel huffed.

“Well, you’ll just have to be patient, then.” Ford said, smiling softly. “I’m sure she’s just spending time with her own family, you’ll have plenty of time to spend with Pacifica once the holiday is done.”

Mabel leaned her hand on her cheek and sighed, unaware of the paint on her hand. “Yeah, something like that.”

Stan reached into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief, and wiped the paint from her cheek. “In the meantime, you’ve got us! So quit with the long face, yeah?”

Dipper took the handkerchief from Stan and passed it over to Ford. “You got a little on your sweater.”

“Huh?” Ford balked, searching his sweater for the aforementioned stain.

“There.” Dipper said, poking the crook of Ford’s elbow with a smile.

Ford blushed slightly, unaware of how messy he was. “Thank you.”

“Sheesh, Ford, you’re really letting yourself go.” Stan teased, lightly punching his shoulder.

“Oh you're one to talk, Stanley ‘I always walk around the house in my underwear’ Pines.” Ford huffed, rolling his eyes.

“My middle name is Filbrick and you know that.” Stan retorted.

“Regardless, you're covered in more paint than I am!” Ford said. “So saying I've been letting myself go is a bit hypocritical.”

“Grunkles, Grunkles, stop acting like _turkey jerkies._ ” Mabel said, laughing at her own joke. “This is finger paint, totally washable, don’t get so worked up!” Mabel said flinging some paint towards Dipper.

“Gah! Mabel! Some of that got in my mouth!” Dipper said, flailing backwards before retaliating by putting some yellow paint in Mabel’s hair.

“Hey, it’s non-toxic, but I hate getting paint in my hair!” Mabel said.

“Now, kids, I think it’s time to--” Ford tried to de-escalate the situation, he could already see where this was going by the mischievous look in his niece and nephew’s eyes, but he was cut off by Mabel.

“PAINT FIGHT!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, not in my house you’re not!” Stan grumbled. “Either take it outside where it won’t ruin the carpets or find something else to throw.”

“PAINT FIGHT… OUTSIDE!” The twins shouted in unison, grabbing paint and flinging it at each other as they ran out the door, almost directly into Soos.

“Mr. Pines, I came over to help with food but… can I go get in on that paint war?” Soos asked, standing in the doorway.

“Sure, someone’s gonna have to bring them in when they tire themselves out.” Stan said.

“We won’t start cooking until a little later anyways, Soos, but we appreciate the thought.” Ford said, smiling but making a not quite inconspicuous effort to cover the stain on his sweater.

Soos whooped and ran back out the door, shouting “PAINT FIGHT!”

Ford looked down at his sweater, trying unsuccessfully to wipe away the paint. “Maybe I should go change… throw this thing in the wash…”

“Yeah, go ahead.” Stan said, cleaning up after Mabel and putting away all of her supplies. “Put on that t-shirt we got you or something.”

“A T-Shirt? Stan, you _know_ that my arms are covered in scars, the kids don’t want to see that.” Ford said, organizing the hand turkeys on the table, moving them closer to the vent so they’d dry faster. “The T-Shirt is to be worn as an undershirt _only_.”

“The kids spent a whole week tryin’ to get a look at the scar on my shoulder, they think we’re both gross old men and they embrace it. You should too.”

Ford sighed, recalling how Mabel had admired one of his scars, one he wasn’t fond of but… somehow she’d made what happened seem less… strange.  “Fine.” Ford pinched the bridge of his nose, grabbing one of Mabel’s glitter pens. “Fine, if it’ll make you _happy_. I’ll enjoy saying ‘I told you so’ when the kids get upset.”

Ford stepped out of the room, poking his head outside, where Dipper, Mabel, and Soos were still splattering each other with paint, getting more on the snow than on themselves. “Uh, Mabel?  Would you mind if I borrowed some… glitter?” He called, leaning against the door frame.

“Sure! If you’re using it in a glitter war with Grunkle Stan, I’d go with the body glitter I’ve got in my room! Second drawer in the nightstand!” She yelled, scooping up some of the paint covered snow and lobbing the snowball at Soos, while Dipper snuck around from behind, having teamed up with Mabel once Soos had joined the brawl.

“Thank you!” Ford said, quietly closing the door. _Maybe if I follow Mabel’s lead, she and Dipper won’t get upset, or better yet, won’t notice the worst of it._ He made his way up to the attic, smiling at the quaint little room the twins had set up themselves. It seemed a little crowded, but cozy and lived in.  It reminded Ford of his own room, back in Glass Shard Beach, of when he and Stan shared bunk beds and blanket forts. He carefully made his way over to the nightstand, easily finding the body glitter Mabel had been talking about, a small pink jar that was as sparkly as its contents. Ford sighed, turning the jar over in his hands before slipping out the door and back downstairs, gripping the jar far too tightly.

Fiddleford was laying down on his and Ford’s bed, propped up by two pillows, tinkering with the spinner ring he was making for Ford and resisting the urge to add a laser to it. He nearly jumped three feet in the air, scrambling to hide the present, when Ford walked in.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Ford said, scratching the back of his head and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “How’s your back?”

“Oh! I-it’s gettin’ better, restin’ up helps.” Fiddleford stammered. “I do appreciate you carryin’ th’ smoker fer me.”

“Any time, Fiddleford.” Ford said, laying down across the bed, resting his head in Fiddleford’s lap and letting out a small sigh.

Fiddleford placed a hand on Ford’s head, gently petting his fluffy hair. “What’s goin’ on, sweetheart?”

“Stan’s just… being Stan.” Ford said, leaning into Fiddleford’s hand, actually enjoying the calming sensation without fear of an attacker. “It’s… complicated. I just need to think for a moment…”

“Sure thing. D’ya need my help with somethin’?” Fiddleford asked.

“I just-- Mabel wanted to make hand turkeys for Thanksgiving. I tried to politely excuse myself and-- well, to Stan’s credit Mabel _did_ give me the puppy dog eyes but I just _knew_ that he was going to give me grief for it later if I backed out, regardless of how Mabel felt. And then I got paint on my favorite sweater so _Stan_ suggested I go put on a t-shirt instead, and--” Ford sighed, sparing the jar of glitter a quick glance. “I just… don’t want to upset the kids, they worry about me enough as it is. And I _know_ I need to be a positive role model for Dipper-- for Mabel, too, but Dipper especially doesn’t deserve to feel the way _I_ did when I was his age, the way I still feel from time to time. But this… this is different.”

Fiddleford pet Fords cheek and the side of his head, listening intently. “Those kiddos have seen me at the pool, an’ that's probably the scariest thing they've ever seen! Your scars ain't so bad, darlin’. You don't have to do everythin’ Stan tells ya, but I think you'd look mighty fine in a plain ol’ the shirt.”

“It’s not about Stan telling me to do something-- he just… He’s just _always_ been able to tell whenever I get insecure about this sort of thing.” Ford said. “And I get his reasoning behind it, he doesn’t seem to think the kids will bat an eye at my scars. They certainly weren’t taken aback by my fingers. I understand that he just wants to make me feel better about the whole thing.” Ford sighed. “It’s… uncomfortable, at times, but… no matter what, no matter how bad things got between us, Stan never made me feel bad about my six fingers. He just tries to jostle me out of my routine. Which… I can see the benefits of, I _know_ that I’ll never know if I’d feel more comfortable unless I try, unless I step away from my routine.”

“Well… You do whatever makes you comfortable, dear. Have a little faith in those kiddos.” Fiddleford said, giving Ford a gentle kiss on the forehead.

“It’s not that I don’t have faith in them, I just--” _Does Fiddleford know how… where some of these scars came from?_ “I’ll take Stan’s advice eventually. There is a look I’ve been wanting to try out, and I can’t do it unless I’m wearing shorter sleeves.”

“Is that so?” Fiddleford grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “I’d love to see it, you can model it fer me.”

“I-- Well, it was Mabel’s idea. I actually showed her a scar on my neck, and she--”

“Decorated it with glitter?” Fiddleford finished, gesturing to the jar in Ford’s hands.

“I know it seems silly, but it’d hide the worst of it, and if it’d keep the kids from getting upset…” Ford propped himself up on the bed. “And it’d keep cool in the summer.”

“I think it would look quite dashing on you! Would you try it, just so I could see it?”

Ford gave Fiddleford a crooked smile, opening the jar and dabbing a small dollop of glitter on the top of Fiddleford’s balding head. “For you? Anything.”

Fiddleford cackled and smeared the glitter all over his head. “Your turn!”

“Okay, okay, just let me find a t-shirt.” Ford chuckled.

“I remember when you used to wear those black t-shirts around the house, that was always so flatterin’ on you.” Fiddleford mused, a light blush across his cheeks.

“I used to sleep in those, it was easier to keep track of than pajamas.” Ford said, smiling.

“They’re comfortable to snuggle up to. S’nice.” Fiddleford rolled off the bed to pick a shirt out for Ford, sniffing it before tossing it to him. “Try this’un, ya always looked good in blue.”

Ford caught the shirt with ease, thanking Fiddleford as he got dressed.

It took him a few more minutes of steeling his nerves and encouraging kisses from Fiddleford before he was actually able to leave the room, the stained sweater bunched in glitter covered hands and headed towards the laundry room.

“Woah, what happened to you?” Stan snickered. “You look like Mabel that week she decided to put on a sock puppet show.”

“I'm… Trying a new look. It's fashionable.” Ford said. “And a compromise. I wear the t-shirt but cover what I don’t want the kids to see.”

Stan hummed in response. “Good, sometimes you could use a reminder that no one here cares about what ya look like.”

Ford rolled his eyes. “I just don’t understand why you have to be so pushy about it.”

“If I don't push ya, who will?” Stan said. “It’s better than watching you get all mopey without pullin’ yourself out of it.”

“I don’t… get mopey.” Ford ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m just _pensive_. I’m not… exactly comfortable doing stuff like this. The kids worry enough about me as it is, I don’t need them figuring out what kinds of scars some of these are.”

“I guess I can understand that much.” Stan said, glancing away with his arms over his chest, covering some of his own scars. “I just don’t want you to get to thinking you have to hide yourself all the time.”

“Well of course _you_ don’t want that. You’ve got no problem going to the _store_ in a _bathrobe_. I’ve been covering every inch I can for as long as I can remember.” Ford said, frowning when a few flecks of glitter slid from his arm. “I understand the logic behind what you’re asking… I’d simply rather not step too far out of my comfort zone.”

Mabel, Dipper, and Soos stampeded inside, splattered with less paint than snow, cheeks rosy as they tried their best to warm up. Mabel let out a loud gasp, running right up to Ford.

“ _Grunkle Ford!_ You look so fabulous!”

Ford’s face flushed, thinking of covering up his arms somehow. “Why… thank you, Mabel.” He said, slowly taking a step backwards, unsure of whether he should hide his hands behind his back or fold his arms or both.

“You look like a disco ball, Dr. Pines! And I would know, I was a disco ball once.” Soos said.

“Oh yeah! I remember that! Hey, I think we still have those flashlights, we could throw a dance party!” Mabel said.

“I have my BABBA dance mix!” Dipper offered.

“Kids, that sounds fun and all, but we need to get goin’ on dishes for tomorrow. We should make what we can today so we don’t have to cook too much tomorrow.” Stanley said, noting Ford’s discomfort at the idea of becoming a human disco ball.

Mabel, Soos, and Dipper all looked a little disappointed, but didn’t object once they caught sight of Ford, who had moved to the other side of the room and was pretending to be engrossed in organizing the cupboards.

Mabel sat down with her recipe book and pulled out the page with her mom’s stuffing. “Grunkle Ford, will you help me make this?”

“Oh, er, well, I think Stan would be better suited to help you with that recipe.” Ford said, looking over the (admittedly, not too terribly complicated, but daunting nonetheless) instructions. “But we won’t have to use the gas stove… so I suppose it shouldn’t be too difficult.” He added, not wanting to hurt Mabel’s feelings.

“Great! Now we won’t have to worry about it when we’re cooking the turkey tomorrow!” Mabel said. “Dippin’ dots, are you gonna help out, too?”

Dipper shrugged and took off his jacket. “Sure, if you need me to.”

“ _Ahem_. Aren’t you kiddos forgetting somethin’? I know I’m not the best at ‘hygiene’ or ‘keeping my hair out of our food’ or ‘not making taxidermy attractions where we eat’ but you kids are covered in paint, and Ford’s covered in glitter. Ford gets a pass because that stuff is technically edible since it's for human skin, but you kids need to wash up.” Stan huffed, pointing at the kids. “Soos, you need to at least make sure your work shirt is clean.”

Both of the kids, and Soos groaned and grumbled things like, “Taking a shower is too much effort” and “It’ll add extra flavor” and a “Grunkle Ford won’t mind” before trudging up the stairs to clean up, leaving the recipe book on the kitchen table.

“You might wanna start setting out ingredients. They’ll be back down before long.” Stan said.

Ford absently rubbed at the glitter on his arm. “I shouldn’t have done this, it’s a waste of time.”

“What? It’s fine. I just don’t want the kids goofin’ off for too long.”

“I’m not talking about the stuffing, Stan.” Ford said, picking out what ingredients the kids would need and setting them on the countertop.

“What? I don’t get it, what’s the matter?” Stan asked.

“Look, I appreciate what you tried to do here, and it’s _nice_ to know that Dipper and Mabel aren’t horrified by this,” Ford gestured towards his arm. “But it’s just not working. I’m going to put on my coat--” Ford sighed. “I’m going to put on a button-up and pretend it’s a coat and maybe Dipper and Mabel won’t ask questions, and maybe Soos won’t work things out on his own. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t ask me to do something like this again. You’re right, you don’t get it.”

Stan frowned as Ford walked away to retrieve a different shirt, before starting after his brother. “Well if I don’t get it, would ya mind explaining it to me?” Stan huffed. _This is supposed to be what you’re good at, this was supposed to work, damnit. And now you’re just going to get in another fight again. You’re gonna make him hate you **again**. _

“It’s not something you or anyone else can change, Stanley. Just drop it and leave it alone.”

“I’m still not followin’ you here.” Stanley said, following Ford into his room, startling Fiddleford in the process. “Just… look, is it somethin’ I said? Somethin’ Mabel said?”

“Bejabbers! You spooked me out of my socks! What’s goin’ on?” Fiddleford asked, jumping up from the bed, his heart pounding at the unexpected intrusion but settling once he realized it was only Stanley and Ford.

“Nothing, it’s fine. I was just being childish. Really, an old man like me gallivanting around with _glitter_ of all things on his arms?” Ford said, searching the chest of drawers opposite the door for a collared shirt.

“What…? Stanford, are you alright? We all think that your glitter looks nice…” Fiddleford frowned, rolling out of bed gently to place a gentle hand on Ford’s back, pulling away when Ford visibly _flinched_ at the touch.

“No, it’s not-- it was a terrible idea and I never should have gone out there. Glitter or no glitter, Mabel will eventually ask questions, _Dipper_ will work out what some of these _say_ , if he hasn’t already. Soos will figure out where some of these _come from_ and I--” Ford muttered, pulling out a dark brown button up. “I don’t want one of them to ask where a scar came from and have the answer be ‘ _myself_ ’. What’s worse, I don’t want any of them to know that some of them came from _Bill_.”

“Oh… Oh dear.” Fiddleford sighed, rubbing Ford’s shoulder. “Stanford, the kids understand that what happened with Bill was a mistake.”

“No one in this family blames you for any of that.” Stan added. “And the kids are just glad you’re okay _now_.”

“They love you no matter what, we all do. An’ no one here thinks ya look bad, either. I think you look just fine.” Fiddleford said, clinging onto Ford, wrapping arms around him to try and make him feel safe.

Ford let out a deep sigh, putting his hand on his forehead and sinking down to the floor, bringing Fiddleford down with him. “I just feel ridiculous…”

“Why?” Stan asked, flopping down on the ground with the both of them. “Dipper’s idolized you since before you two met, Mabel adores you just as much, and you’ve patched things up with Fidds and we’re not fighting anymore,” _We’re not fighting anymore, right?_ “So what’s there to feel ridiculous about?”

Ford sighed, leaning back against the chest of drawers. “I just don’t know what to do about any of this. I don’t know what I’m dealing with, I don’t have the answers, and that’s almost as terrifying as--” Ford gestured to his head. “As this! And… and it would help a lot if I wasn’t constantly faced with a visual reminder of my own shortcomings and instability.”

“Well, you’re not doin’ this alone, dear.” Fiddleford said, scooting up close to Ford, almost in his lap.

“And _this_?” Stanley said, taking Ford’s glitter covered arm and bringing it closer to his face, placing his thumb over the scars brought by Ford’s own hand. “This doesn’t define you, any more than the fingers thing defines you. _You_ decide who you wanna be.”

Ford stared at Stanley for a moment, before shifting his gaze to Fiddleford, and back to Stanley. “Thank you,” he said, wrapping his arms around both of their shoulders. “Thank you both.”

Fiddleford smooched Ford’s cheek and leaned on his shoulder. “That’s what we’re here for.”

“I ain’t kissin’ your cheek.” Stan huffed, unamused by Fiddleford’s romantics. “But I’m your brother, I’m not gonna let this get to you.”

Ford cracked a smile, pulling Stanley in closer and using the arm that was previously wrapped around Fiddleford to tousle Stan’s hair. “Come here, knucklehead. I could always count on you.” Ford sighed, leaning back and releasing his friends. “Still, I think for the time being it’d be best to cover up the worst of it. The kids might not be fluent in the languages wri-- er, carved… onto my arms but I still don’t think it’s a good idea to expose them to the language therein.”

“Yeah, I understand… sorry for pushin’ you.” Stanley said, scratching the back of his head and curling in on himself, just a little.

“Hey,” Ford put a hand on Stanley’s shoulder. “You were just trying to help. There was no way you could have known it was that bad, the only person who’s really gotten a decent look at them before now was Fiddleford.”

“They’re not that bad.” Fiddleford agreed. “To be honest, I was expectin’ worse--” Fiddleford was cut off by a quick head shake from Stanley, who had once, at the wise old age of seven, told Ford _‘hey, at least you’re not some spooky fantasy monster thing’_ which had snowballed into anomalies, into cryptozoology and into Gravity Falls and, inevitably, Bill Cipher. He didn’t want to think about the effects a similar comment would have on Ford, if that would start another lifelong obsession.

Ford took a deep breath, and pulled on his long sleeve shirt. “One day, when they’re older, I suppose I’ll have to sit them down and tell them what happened. They worry too much for me to keep it a secret.”

“They’ll understand you, Ford. They’re family. Maybe when they’re outta high school.” Stanley said.

“Gather ‘em all around like a bedtime story.” Fiddleford chuckled. “They’d enjoy that.”

“Yeah, the world’s… worst bedtime story.” Ford said with an awkward, crooked smile.

Stanley heaved himself off of the ground and groaned as he popped his back. “Let’s get in the kitchen alright? The kids’ll start goofing off again if we don’t.” He said.

Dipper and Mabel were already in the kitchen, having managed to turn it into a disaster zone in the span of ten minutes. Mabel scattered her ingredients out on the counter, using her hands to mix up the stuffing, while Dipper flipped through the recipe book. Soos was ‘supervising’ and doing a poor job of it, preferring to help Mabel with her recipe and making the mess worse in the process.

“Mabel, why don't we make something else from in here too? Mom had so many good recipes…” Dipper asked.

“I could make her challah bread instead of those store bought rolls. I like braiding, even if it's usually hair instead of bread.” Mabel said, excitedly.

“Maybe we should use the store bought rolls for now, save the challah bread for Hanukkah?” Ford asked, smiling as he walked into the kitchen.

Mabel turned at the sound of Ford's voice and smiled. “But it’s so good, it'll be ten times better than rolls!”

“But we don’t want to waste the rolls we already have!” Ford chuckled, placing a hand on Mabel’s shoulder. “How far did you get on the stuffing without me?”

“The cornbread is in the oven, but I have the toast and bread crumbs all mixed up.” Mabel said.

“Excellent, what’s next then?” Ford asked.

“We have to wait for the cornbread to finish, and then we put that in, and add the chicken broth and spices and eggs!” Mabel said. “Soos is looking for it now.”

“Hey, Grunkle Ford, Dad’s smoking instructions for the turkey are in this book, do you want to see?” Dipper asked, holding the book out to Ford.

“I believe that would be best,” Ford said, taking it from Dipper and leaning next to him on the counter. “There should be some basabasa broth in the freezer, Soos.” He added, absentmindedly, as he thumbed through the recipe book, a tiny Moleskine notebook that looked as old as he was.

“ _What_ broth?” Soos asked, opening the freezer and taking out a Tupperware container full. “Is this it?”

“Grunkle Ford, what’s a basabasa?” Mabel asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Did I say basabasa I meant chicken.” Ford backpedaled. “Store bought chicken broth, that’s what’s in the freezer.”

“Wait, Grunkle Ford, do you mean those fire birds? Basabasa? I think you wrote about them in journal two…” Dipper said.

“Ah, yes, the basabasa is rare around these parts, it was brought over from Japan accidentally sometime around the late 1800s. Early immigrants mistook a few for standard chickens, but thankfully the species didn’t become particularly invasive, as they share many similarities with actual chickens and thus, had the same predators to contend with--” Ford paused mid-explanation. “But that’s not what’s in the freezer, I assure you.”

Mabel placed her hands on her hips and glared up at Ford. “Are you sure, Grunkle Ford?”

“I-- W-well…” Ford sighed. _I can’t lie to that face._ “Mabel, sweetie, people need to eat sometimes. And grocery stores aren’t always accessible out in the multiverse, so, er… when _hunting_ becomes your only viable option-- You simply get used to it. It’s certainly not the strangest thing I’ve eaten. Heck, even before I fell through the portal, I’d taken a fancy to cycloptopus sushi. It’s… part of the circle of life. In the multiverse, it’s eat or be eaten.”

Mabel frowned, her hands fidgeting. “Oh… why’d you lie about it?”

“I just didn’t want to make you upset.” Ford said. “I’d… actually planned to hunt food for us in the future, so… I suppose I would have had to tell you eventually. I’m sorry, Mabel, I won’t do it anymore if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Mabel sighed, in deep thought. “Well… as long as you only hunt to eat, not for sport. And I don’t have to see it. And the animals aren’t cute.”

“Of course, Mabel.” Ford said, kneeling down to her level. “And you don’t have to worry about me hunting for sport. I’ve been on the other end of the weapon enough times to-- Er, well, how about I thaw that broth before the cornbread is done?”

Mabel nodded, forcing a small smile. “Sure. Thanks, Grunkle Ford.”

Ford frowned slightly, but chose to let the situation be, despite the crushing feeling that he’d failed as a guardian creeping up on him. Soos shared a sympathetic look with Ford, understanding that Stan lied all the time, but remained firmly by Mabel’s side.

“Hey, you did what you had to, to survive.” Soos said, breaking the tension with an awkward laugh.

“Mabel doesn’t like lying, Grunkle Ford, unless it’s for the greater good. And even then she’s really uncomfortable with it. And Mabel, Grunkle Ford only lied because it’s a portal thing, and he knew it would make you upset, and he didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” Dipper added.

Mabel sniffled, rubbing her nose with her sweater sleeve. “I’m sorry I got mad, Grunkle Ford. I understand.”

“Mabel, _I’m_ sorry, I shouldn’t have lied to you about this. I should have just told you from the outset.” Ford said. _You have to learn to trust them, otherwise you’re going to lose them and that’s worse than anything letting them in could do._

Mabel shuffled close to Ford and wrapped her arms around him. “I forgive you.”

Ford was taken aback, he hadn’t expected this reaction, but returned Mabel’s hug nonetheless. “Thank you, Mabel.”

“Aw, group hug, you guys! Soos exclaimed, grabbing Dipper and joining in the hug.

“Er, Soos, you really don’t have to--” Ford tried to protest.

“You guys don’t hug enough, it needs to happen more often.” Soos said.

“I beg to differ.” Ford said, rolling his eyes but not trying to get away. Suddenly, he stiffened as he heard a knock at the door. “Stan?” He called. “Are you expecting anyone?”

Stan trudged in the room, wearing his bathrobe. “No, probably someone tryin’ to sell something.”

“At four o’clock in the afternoon, the day before Thanksgiving? Stan, even _I_ know that’s not how these things work.” Ford said, drawing his pistol from the holster on his belt, turning off the safety.

“Look, Poindexter, it’s probably nothin’, just get the door, will you?” Stan called, but Ford was already moving towards the door, pistol in hand, ready to face a potential threat.

Ford’s eyes narrowed when he couldn’t see anyone out of the tiny window near the top of the front door, his grip on the pistol tightening, ready to fire a deadly charge at whoever or whatever was just beyond the threshold of safety he’d managed to return to after thirty years.

Ford flung the door open, fully prepared to strike-- but stopped short once he realized there was a child at the door. _Not a threat, not a monster, just… a child._ He withdrew his weapon, turning the safety back on and replacing it in its holster, before kneeling down to the girl's level. “Pacifica Northwest? Sorry I startled you. I thought you might have been someone less than savory. What are you doing out in this weather?”

“Uh… Is Mabel home? Can I come in?” Pacifica asked, adjusting her sunglasses, pulling her scarf tighter around her head. Nathaniel Leverton, her chauffeur, watched the interaction carefully from the Northwest family limousine, intent on making sure she got inside safely.

Ford nodded, opening the door all the way and ushering Pacifica inside.

“Paz?” Mabel smiled, setting down her oven mitts and poking her head out of the kitchen. “What are you doing here, what’s up?”

Pacifica took her sunglasses off and smiled softly, though it was a little forced. “Just wanted to get out of the house for a while. Do you, um, mind if I cash in on that sleepover we didn’t get to have over Halloween?”

“What? Of course not, but… what about Thanksgiving, what about your parents?”

“They’re going to a big fancy banquet on the other side of the country, it’ll be fine.” Pacifica said.

“Oh… wow, okay. Um--” Mabel turned around, looking into the living room to see Stan sitting in his chair. “Grunkle Stan, can Pacifica spend the night? Her parents are out of town.”

“A sleepover, eh? Sounds like the kind of thing a responsible parent would want to talk to the Northwests about. Good thing I’m an uncle!” Stan said. “Do whatever you want. Just tell Pacifica not to expect any fancy banquets or miniature foods.”

“Thanks Grunkle Stan!” Mabel said, almost squealing. “This is gonna be so fun! We can cook together and sit together at Thanksgiving, and watch romantic movies! And stay up late and look at magazine boys!”

Pacifica blushed, taking off her coat. “Maybe not the magazine boys. I’m going to have Nathaniel bring in my overnight bags.” She said, turning towards the door, nearly running into Ford in the process.

“Here, let me help you with those.” Ford said, leading Pacifica outside. “Pacifica, I’d like to have a word with you, if you don’t mind?”

“Uh, sure?” Pacifica said, following Ford outside to the limo.

“Is everything alright at home?” Ford asked. “I understand you’re dating my niece and that you want to spend time with her over the holidays, but-- and forgive me if I’m incorrect in my assumption, but showing up the day before Thanksgiving when you could be spending time with your family seems a little… strange.”

“My family doesn’t do things like normal people. We’re rich, we get to go on vacations whenever we want… even on Thanksgiving. Without me. It’s a big banquet with a lot of diplomats this time around, I’d just be bored if they brought me along.” Pacifica shrugged.

“I… I see.” Ford said, suspicious but choosing not to cause a scene until he had something more… conclusive.

Pacifica’s chauffeur, Nathaniel, opened the trunk and handed two small glittery suitcases to Ford. “Do be careful not to drop them.” He said, glancing over the oddly dressed man before him, his eyes lingering for half a second too long over Ford’s hands. “Miss Northwest’s things are very delicate.”

Pacific handed Nathaniel a hundred dollar bill and patted his hand. “Thank you, Nathaniel, I’ll call you when I need to be picked up.” She said.

“Very well, Miss Northwest. Enjoy your holiday.” Nathaniel said, giving a pointed look to Ford.

Ford, a little dumbfounded, followed Pacifica back inside. He set her bags down in the living room, with all the grace and care he’d take with a rucksack of supplies after a long day’s trek through a foreign planet, one hand on his chin in thought. _I’m no parenting expert, but her parents don’t seem to be either. Still… is the situation dire enough for an intervention? **Something** clearly isn’t right about this, but without anything to go off of..._

Ford broke his train of thought when he noticed Pacifica gently tugging on his shirt sleeve. “Mr. -- Dr. Pines? Can I ask you something?”

“Yes of course. What is it?” Ford replied, taking a knee to get to Pacifica’s level.

“So… Mabel told me the other week to stay away from some guy who was a triangle? And I happened to be looking in the attic for my Christmas presents and I found this dusty old tapestry with triangles all over it. Should I be worried? And there’s an ominous looking one in the hallway by the third ballroom, too...”

“That’s not a very good sign, but I think you should be fine. You can bring the tapestries to me and I will burn them, and any other, _ahem_ , triangle items you have in your home.” Ford said. “...Regular triangles are alright, it’s the ones with eyes you need to watch out for.”

“Thank you.” Pacific said, tossing a fifty dollar bill at Ford as she walked away, causing Stan to dart across the room to catch it.

“...Half the reason you support Mabel and her dating is so she’ll marry rich. Isn’t it.” Ford deadpanned.

“More like three quarters.” Stan said, shoving the bill in his bathrobe pocket.

Ford chuckled, playfully punching Stan in the arm. “As long as she’s happy, though.”

“Right, right.” Stan said. “I’m gonna make sure they’re not burning down the kitchen.”

“I’ll join you.” Ford said, simply. “And hey, Pacifica _did_ offset the cost of the groceries for the week!”

In the kitchen, Mabel pulled the cornbread out of the oven and instructed Ford on how to help prepare the stuffing, while Dipper and Pacifica sat down at the table, softly chit chatting.

“So, what, did you get tired of cocktail weenies and caviar?” Dipper joked. “Sorry to say, but the closest thing you’ll find here are Vienna sausages and cycloptopus eggs.”

“Yeah, and eating alone at the dining room table. It’s ridiculous. I’d rather eat poor people food. Especially when Mabel makes it.” Pacifica said, rolling her eyes.

“Then be prepared for lots of glitter and plastic dinosaurs.” Dipper laughed.

“I’m okay with that.” Pacifica said.

“That makes one of us. You haven’t choked on a plastic dinosaur before, have you?” Dipper asked.

“If anything that isn’t organic ever made its way into my food my parents would fire the whole staff.” Pacifica said.

“You’re going to _love_ our Thanksgiving. Plenty of processed foods.” Dipper laughed. “The company might not be what you’re used to, I’m surprised you were originally going to spend tomorrow alone.”

“Yeah, they go places without me all the time. You get kinda used to being alone, I guess.” She said.

“I guess I can’t judge, my parents sent us here for a whole summer--” Dipper sighed, drumming his fingers against the table. “Your parents are still the worst, though.” He muttered.

“Yeah… Yeah they are.” Pacific huffed. “Your family is weird, but in a good way. I like it here. Even if it’s kind of smelly.”

“Wow, never thought I’d hear you say that. You must really like Mabel.”

Pacific turned her head away to hide her smile. “Yeah, I really do.”

“Look, as long as you make her happy, I don’t have a problem.” Dipper said. “But she had a lot of heartbreak over the summer and so far the fall hasn’t been much better. So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t add to the list, or we’re going to have a problem.”

Pacifica crossed her arms, can eyebrow raised. “Who do you think I am? I don’t waste time with people I don’t like.”

“You don’t have to not like someone to hurt them.” Dipper said. “And I’m pretty sure all the money in the world can’t stand up to a bear with seven heads.”

“I’m not going to do something stupid… Mabel’s the only person who really knows me. I couldn’t hurt her if I wanted to.”

“Heh, I guess that’s one thing we have in common. Like a Mabel protection squad.” Dipper mused.

“I should get jackets made.” Pacifica said. “Candy and Grenda might want some too, though, and I'm not sure how I feel about them yet.”

“They come off a little… Strong. But they're nice.” Dipper said. “You should give them a chance.”

“They're probably going along with this whole thing with Mabel and me because I'm rich and Grenda is still dating Marius.” Pacifica said, shrugging. “I was pretty rude to them before the summer, it wouldn't surprise me.”

“I don't think that's all true. Candy and Grenda are pretty weird, but they've been true to Mabel since day one. Now that you're so nice to everybody, I think they trust you.” Dipper said.

Pacifica scoffed. “Please, I'm only nice to you guys cause you're my friends, and because I have a reputation to uphold in town.”

“Yeah… We are friends, aren't we?” Dipper asked, unsure.

“I-- I think? You haven't asked me for money or really flaunted that you know me so I'm not sure?” Pacifica said, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, I think we could be friends. Look out for each other, and Mabel.” Dipper said.

“... Is that… is that what friends do?”

“Yeah. I'm pretty sure.” Dipper shrugged. “That's what Soos and Wendy do.”

“Wow. My friends just mooch off my parents vast riches.” Pacifica said.

“I can't guarantee that Grunkle Stan won't also want to do that, but only a little! You'll barely even notice it after a while.” Dipper laughed. “This has gotten weird, hasn't it?”

“Yeah. It really has.” Pacifica sighed and leaned on her hand, watching Mabel instructing Ford on how to finish their recipe. “So what's the deal with your other uncle? Ford.”

Dipper sighed and began to sift through what information he could trust Pacifica with.

Ford winced as he took the steaming hot Tupperware container out of the microwave, carrying it with the tips of his fingers to avoid burning his hands. “This _is_ the right amount of broth, right Mabel?”

“Woah! Doesn’t that hurt? We have plenty of oven mitts, Grunkle Ford!” Mabel exclaimed, pulling out oven mitts that look like chickens.

“Huh? Oh, it’s fine, Mabel.” Ford said, carefully setting the container on the counter. “But those _are_ nice oven mitts. Would you mind letting me borrow them?” He asked.

“Use them, they’re for everyone to use! Don’t hurt yourself.” Mabel said, plopping the oven mitts on Ford’s hands, having to squeeze them around his extra finger.

Ford let out a soft chuckle. “Alright, alright, I promise I’ll use oven mitts from now on. Now, how about you tell me what Thanksgiving is like in this dimension.”

Mabel smiled as she recalled Thanksgiving with her parents. “Well, Dad usually makes the turkey, and then me and Mom and Dipper make everything else. We watch the Macy’s Parade, and we watch the dog show and the football game after that. We usually all eat in the dining room, and Dad sets up a little TV in there, and we just eat and eat until we get stuffed.”

“They still have the Macy’s Parade?” Ford asked, his smile growing wider.

“Yeah! There are all kinds of neat balloons! I like the Hello Kitty balloon, and Dipper likes the Peanuts balloon the best.”

“What’s Hello Kitty?” Ford asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You haven't heard of hello kitty?” Mabel gasped. She kicked off one shoe and tried holding her leg up to display her pink hello kitty socks. “She's a Japanese cartoon character, she's super popular! You can find hello kitty on _anything.”_

“Ah, well, I’ll have to take your word for it.” Ford said, putting the finishing touches on the stuffing. “I’ll be honest, I’m more excited about the turkey than anything. I haven’t seen that much meat in one place in a long time. Here, is this right?” Ford asked, handing a spoonful of stuffing for Mabel to taste, before they added in the eggs.

“...And so then he sorta came out of this portal thing in our basement, I didn’t even know we _had_ a basement! This was like, the _day_ after your gala too, I was beat by the time it was over--” Dipper was still telling Pacifica about Ford.

“Dipper,” Ford interrupted, worried that Pacifica was learning too much, despite the fact that Dipper hadn't told Pacifica anything Ford wouldn't have told her himself. “Come taste this. Mabel thinks it's fine but I'm almost certain it's missing something.” He said, holding a spoonful of stuffing. Mabel raised an eyebrow at her uncle, she hadn’t said a thing about the stuffing, but didn’t question him.

“Oh! Uh, sure.” Dipper rose from his seat, tentatively giving the stuffing a taste, worried that between Mabel’s penchant for ingredients that weren't technically food and Ford's general apathy towards such ingredients, the stuffing would prove to be inedible. Surprisingly, it tasted comforting. Like home. “It's just like Mom's.”

“That’s wonderful to hear, Dipper. But, um…” Ford whispered, putting a hand on Dipper’s shoulder. “If you trust Pacifica, then I see no reason to be untrusting of her myself, but I would… appreciate it if I got to know her a little better before telling her about the portal…”

“Oh, I'm sorry Grunkle Ford!” Dipper said, worry in his voice. “I'm really sorry, I didn't tell her about… You know who.” Dipper whispered, making a triangle shape over his eye with his fingers. “Or the, um… snow globe.”

“No, no, it’s alright, really, Dipper. I trust you.” Ford whispered. “And if she’s going to be involved with Mabel she’s going to need to know some of these things. You don’t have to worry about keeping Bill a secret from her, Mabel warned her already, but…” Ford glanced between Mabel and Pacifica, before speaking up. “I think, since the stuffing is ready for the oven, we should give the girls some privacy.” He said, leading Dipper out of the kitchen. “It might be nothing, but Pacifica _did_ tell me that her parents have some… concerning objects in their house. Obviously I can’t do much about it unless she brings them to me, but if I could ask you to keep an eye on her and Mabel? For both their sakes.”

“Of course, Grunkle Ford.” Dipper said. “Pacifica and I are making ‘Mabel Protection Squad’ jackets, we’ll order one for you too!”

Mabel finished up the stuffing mixture and gently placed it in the oven. “Grunkle Ford, if I set the timer, will you keep an eye on the stuffing and take it out when it’s done? So I can hang out with Paz?” She called.

“Of course! And don’t worry, I’ll remember the oven mitts this time!” Ford called.

 Mabel took Pacifica by the hand and picked up one of her bags for her. “I'll show you to my room, we can look through my movies, get out the board games, dress up and have makeovers! Even though you're pretty enough.”

Pacifica blushed. “Thanks, you’re not so bad yourself. I’d love to give you a makeover though.”

Stan placed a hand on Mabel's shoulder before she could get to the rickety stairs. “Mabel, pumpkin, can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Uh, yeah? Go on ahead, Paz, the light should be on.” Mabel said, waving Pacifica up the stairs. Pacifica shrugged, but continued.

“Hey, listen, I know teen love is exciting and all, but don’t try to do anything too fast. You’re thirteen, you’ve got plenty of time to--”

“ _Ew_ , Grunkle Stan, I get it.” Mabel made a face.

Stan cleared his throat, blushing almost as much as Mabel was. “Good. Just wanted to uh, make sure.”

“Grunkle _Stan_. Please don't embarrass me.” Mabel said, groaning.

“Go upstairs and have fun, kiddo.” Stan said with a wave of his hand, returning to the living room to finish the movie he’d been watching with Soos.

Mabel shook her head, and escaped from the air of awkwardness from downstairs. “Phew!” She said, walking into the attic. “Sorry about that, are you ready for the best. Sleepover. _Ever_?!”

“Uh… Sure?” Pacifica said, standing in the middle of the room with her hands clasped in front of her and her luggage at her feet. “I don't really know what to do, my mom always runs parties with my friends. Well, they’re kind of my friends.”

“What?! Psh, parents aren’t supposed to run the sleepovers. They just make-- well, my mom used to let us have breakfast for dinner.” Mabel said. “But the best parts of the sleepover are when you’re totally unsupervised! And have access to weapons you probably shouldn’t have!”

“Weapons? Unsupervised party activities? I dunno… Will you let me know if I’m doing something wrong?” Pacifica asked.

“You can’t do anything _wrong_. Just, have fun.” Mabel smiled, holding Pacifica’s hand and squeezing it. “First order of business, pajamas! You can change in the bathroom, or behind that screen over there.” Mabel said, turning to fetch her purple sleep shirt from her and Dipper’s dresser.

Pacifica squinted at a moldy spot on the ceiling, next to what appeared to be a bird’s nest, but took her own pajamas, a frilly pink nightgown, behind the screen to change. “Your house is… quaint.”

“Thank you. It’s really different from San Francisco... Maybe I can take you to see it for the summer one day. I had a lot more space.” Mabel said.

“I’d like that.”

“It’s a really pretty house… I miss it a lot sometimes.” Mabel sighed as she pulled on her old sleep shirt, a gift from her father. “But-- But Dipper and I will be able to keep it when we’re older! So it’s not that bad.”

“That’s good. You can live in it when you’re older.” Pacifica said. “So, we’re in pajamas. Now what?”

“Now, we party! I’ll let you choose! We can watch a sappy movie, play games, do makeovers, read some of Grenda’s romance novels…”

“Makeovers sounds fun!”

“Yay! We can do each other’s makeup first, and then _surprise makeovers._ ” Mabel said, digging through her nightstand for her makeup bag.

Pacifica pulled her makeup out of her luggage, in a sparkly purple bag that matched her suitcase. “Sure! Here, let me do yours first.” She spilled the contents of her bag on the floor, bunches of expensive designer names adorning the bottles. “I think my foundation might be a little pale for you… Do you want me to use yours?”

“Sure!” Mabel said, tossing her makeup back to Pacifica. “Use whatever you want!”

Pacifica picked up a brush and swirled a little bit of liquid base onto Mabel’s face. “You have really pretty skin, you don’t even need foundation.” She said. “Dipper, though, Dipper’s got your uncle’s weird orange nose thing going on.”

Mabel giggled, scrunching up her nose. “Yeah, I think that’s a boy thing that runs in the family. I look more like my mom. You have a cute nose, it’s little. And kinda pointy?”

“You like it? I hate it. My mom wants me to get a nose job when I turn sixteen.” Pacifica said, lining Mabel’s eyes with a liquid liner. “And I agree with her on that.”

“What? No! Your nose is _beautiful_! You’re beautiful, you don’t need any tweaking.” Mabel said, taking a tube of lipstick from her makeup bag and smearing a bit on Pacifica’s nose. “Except for that, _now_ you’re gorgeous!”

Pacific covered her mouth to laugh, smudging the lipstick everywhere. “Mabel! This is _not_ a good look!”

“Of course it is!” Mabel said, reaching underneath her bed and pulling out her more… _theatrical_ makeup kit. “And for my next trick, I’ll show you what a surprise makeover is!” She said.

“Who’s your victim-- I mean, _subject_?” Pacific asked.

“It can be anyone in the house _except_ for Grunkle Ford. Him we have to ask beforehand.” Mabel said, pulling out her crossbow and homemade arrows, powder puffs attached to the dull points.

“Er, okay, what about Dipper?”

“Oooh, he’s tricky. But I'm always up for a challenge!” Mabel said, loading her crossbow and handing her theatrical makeup kit to Pacifica. “Just follow my lead and stay as quiet as possible.”

Pacific grinned and loaded up a brush with a hot pink blush. “Let’s do it.”

Mabel quietly tiptoed towards the door, making sure not to step on any particularly creaky floorboards and risk having Dipper hear from downstairs, and motioned for Pacifica to follow.

Pacifica carefully followed Mabel’s steps, holding back laughter as she walked. Mabel passed Waddles in the hallway, pausing for a moment to give him a head scratch, and guided Pacifica down the stairs.

Stan sat in his easy chair with Soos and Dipper sitting on each armrest, the TV blaring one of Stan’s old people movies-- er, _classics_. Grandpa the Kid 3: The Good, the Bad, and the Live-In Nurse. The movie was interrupted with a scream when can arrow armed with a powder puff flew right between Dipper and Stan, just barely missing them and scattering foundation in the air.

“PACIFICA! HOLD HIM DOWN!” Mabel screamed as she reloaded her crossbow.

Pacific charged in the living room with lipstick in hand. Stan pushed himself up and out of the hair, grabbing a throw pillow and tossing it to Dipper. “Shield yourself, kid, we’re under attack!”

“Soos, save yourself!” Dipper yelled, “Remember the David Bowie incident!”

Soos promptly ran out the front door with his truck keys in hand, exclaiming, “Sorry dudes, you’re on your own!” He yelled. “SOOS WILL LIVE ANOTHER DAY!”

Dipper grabbed the pillow and ran, easily dodging Pacifica and heading into the kitchen. “Grunkle Ford, save me!” He yelled, dramatically, tossing the pillow in Mabel’s face to slow her down.

Ford, who’d been sitting at the kitchen table, waiting patiently for the oven timer, sprang into action, ready to save Dipper from whatever threat had managed to find its way into the Shack. Dipper let out a yelp as he found himself lifted by his uncle, who was at the kitchen window in an instant, fist poised to smash it clean through. Luckily for the both of them, Ford somehow managed to find the good sense to pause for half a second. _Okay, so I **could** break this window and push Dipper through. **But,** that would mean a lot of broken glass, and broken glass plus children equals injured children. _Ford quickly opened the window, shoving Dipper out onto the snow.

“Dipper, run! Head for Multibear’s cave, I’ll get the girls and Soos!” Ford yelled.

Dipper froze in this tracks, dusting snow from his shirt and trying not to shiver, confused. “W-wait, what?”

Ford spun around, ready to grab Mabel and Pacifica and deal with whatever had _dared_ threaten his family, but stopped short when he saw Mabel calmly standing in the doorway, one hand holding Pacifica’s arm.

“Hold on, what’s going on--” Ford let out a mildly exasperated sigh. “Mabel. You and Pacifica were just doing that… flash makeover thing, weren’t you.”

“Yes.” Mabel said, standing in front of Pacifica to protect her and her uncle from each other, but otherwise remaining completely calm.

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose, steeling his nerves and walking back over to the window to help Dipper back into the house. “Dipper, _please_ don’t say things like ‘save me, Grunkle Ford’ unless there’s an actual danger.”

“I’m sorry, Grunkle Ford…” Dipper said, climbing through the window, shaking the snow off onto the kitchen floor.

“It’s alright, my boy. Just… try to keep it in mind.” Ford said, smiling down at his nephew.

Mabel hung her head and dropped her customized makeover crossbow on the floor in defeat. “I guess we have to do regular, consensual makeovers.”

“Well, if you’re looking for someone to experiment on, I’ll do it.” Ford said, smiling at the young girls before him. “Just let me get this stuffing out of the oven first.”

“Really? We’ll set up at the table!” Mabel cheered, promptly dragging Pacifica back up the stairs to fetch her full makeup supply.

The smell of freshly baked stuffing filled the kitchen by the time Mabel and Pacifica came back down, finding that Ford couldn’t help but have a spoonful, and had gotten out two more spoons in case the girls wanted to try it as well.

“Do you like it?” Mabel asked, noticing the missing stuffing. “Does it taste right?”

“It tastes wonderful, Mabel.” Ford said, ruffling her hair. “Be careful, though, it’s very hot and still needs to cool.”

“I’ll wait, Grunkle Ford, I want to save it. Do you want some, Paz?” Mabel asked, plopping her makeup supplies on the table with a loud _thunk_.

“Er, no thank you, not right now.” Pacifica said. “I already had dinner tonight, I’m not hungry.”

“Are you sure? Snacks are an important part on sleepovers!” Mabel said.

“But so are makeovers, and I don’t want food crumbs in my foundation!” Pacifica laughed.

“Speaking of which,” Ford said, gesturing to the table. “Should I shave before you put this stuff on my face? I’m not sure how effective these will be with stubble.”

“Hmmm… You don’t _need_ to. But it might look better if you do.” Mabel said, opening up her makeup tackle box. “I think it’d look neat if you kept it though.”

“Well then, I trust your judgement.” Ford said, taking a seat at the table.

“What kind of look do you want, Dr. Pines?” Pacifica asked, setting all her brushes in a row.

“Well, unless you’re familiar with the customs of Zaleahan warriors I doubt I know of any styles you’re familiar with.” Ford said. “Just… do whatever you think is best.”

“How about something really dramatic and smoky?” Pacific pondered, already applying makeup to Ford’s face.

Ford wordlessly produced a lighter from his pocket.

“No, no, that’s not what she meant.” Mabel said, gently putting the lighter to the side. She turned back to Pacifica. “It’ll need a lot of glitter. And we’ll need to do his nails so he looks like a wolverine.”

“I have some press-ons that we can use!” Pacifica said, digging through her purse and pulling out a packet of press on nails. “And… these are child sized.”

Mabel gasped, pressing her hands to her cheeks. “Baby wolverine!”

“You know, I think Dipper might have something to get those to the correct si--” Ford started.

“Nope! We’re doing the baby wolverine, no take backs!” Mabel said.

Pacifica laughed and pulled her chair closer to Ford, removing his glasses. “Alright, here goes.”

Dipper walked in about a half hour later, trying to get some more popcorn for himself, Grunkle Stan and Fiddleford, and nearly dropped his soda in shock. “Grunkle Ford, what on earth _happened_ to you?!”

“Apparently, this is the height of our dimension’s fashion. Fascinating, isn’t it?” Ford said, squinting to see Dipper without his glasses. “I’m assuming I look becoming.”

“You look… Different.” Dipper said, trying not to laugh at Ford’s blue eyebrows and lipstick.

“This exact look was on the runway at Milan Fashion Week just this year!” Pacifica said. “...Okay well the tiny false nails and bezzazzles were Mabel’s idea but everything else is haute couture!”

 “And rhinestones care always in fashion. Don’t listen to Dipper, Grunkle Ford, you look fabulous.” Mabel said, handing Ford his glasses back.

“Alright, I believe you.” Ford chuckled. “Now it’s my turn.” He said, picking out a few of Mabel’s smallest brushes, and some interesting color choices of face paint.

Pacific pulled her bangs away from her face with a laugh. “Do you even know anything about makeup, Dr. Pines?”

 “I’ve learned a few techniques in my time, Pacifica.” Ford said.

“It may seem like Grunkle Ford is a regular nerd, but he knows a lot about _everything_.” Mabel said with a big toothy smile.

“O-oh, well, thank you, Mabel.” Ford said, sorting through Mabel and Pacifica’s makeup. “In my time, I’ve found it helpful to learn about the cultures of whatever dimension I was staying in. If you think Earth’s beauty standards are tough, Zaleahans and Dishgans are both known to kill if makeup isn’t worn correctly.”

“That sounds like earth to me.” Pacifica said with a tiny shrug.

“...Did something change while I was gone?” Ford asked, raising an eyebrow. “No matter, the Zaleahans might be a ruthless race of intergalactic conquerors but they are _surprisingly_ adept at cosmetics. I’m sure you two will love the look.” He said, gently smearing some blue paint over Mabel’s face, using the brush to outline the markings in silver.

Mabel giggled, loving the feeling of goop on her face. “I like it already. I don’t use my face paint often enough. The best part is after it dries, when it starts to crack if you wiggle your nose.”

Pacifica shook her head. “I’ll have to buy you some higher quality paint, the professional stuff doesn't do that.”

“What? Where’s the fun then!” Mabel said.

“Here, hold still, Mabel.” Ford said, applying a dark purple swirl from the corner of her eye to her jawline, adding smaller dots of gold along the line.

“That’s actually really pretty, Dr. Pines.” Pacifica said.

“I’m glad you think so, Pacifica, because you’re next.” Ford said, putting the finishing touches on Mabel’s face, a large, deep red stripe on her other cheek.

Mabel reached for her compact mirror to get a look at her makeup job. “Wow! I look like a warrior princess!”

“Good, because that’s the look I was trying to emulate.” Ford said.

“What am I going to be?” Pacific asked, scooting closer to Ford.

“Well, what would you like?”

“Something… Intimidating. Powerful.” Pacifica said.

Ford smirked. “I think I have just the look in mind.” He said, pulling out more red paint, beginning with a diagonal streak across her face.

Pacifica shut her eyes and relaxed as her face was painted, kicking her legs in the chair. “So you’ve been all around the universe, right? Got any cool stories?”

“Oh-- er, well…” Ford stalled. “...Once, I came across an alien youth who told tale of a wandering space nomad whose life’s mission was to spread joy and kindness. That’s just a fable though-- er, how about I tell you a little about the social hierarchy of Zeleaha.”

“Social hierarchy? Like classes?” Pacifica asked as Ford spread a thin, jagged line over her forehead, using a makeup sponge to give it a smoky effect.

“Yes. You see, they believed that anything they could set their sights on was theirs, given to them by the universe as an act of providence. So the more eyes a Zeleaha was born with, the wealthier they would become. Fighting for it, however, was viewed as beneath them, so they’d draft foreigners to do their dirty work.” Ford explained.

“They sound pretty smart.” Pacifica marveled. “Were there girls in charge?”

“They actually had seventeen biological genders, but the ones primarily responsible for propagation were the leaders on their planets, yes.” Ford said, nodding and adding flecks of purple to Pacifica’s face.

“That sounds like a cool planet...” Pacifica said, swinging her legs.

“Hm.” Ford paused, picking up Mabel’s compact mirror. “What do you think?”

Pacific grabbed the mirror and gasped, almost squealing. “I look amazing!”

Ford let out a hearty chuckle. “I’m glad you think so, Pacifica.”

“We should go scare Dipper with our war paint!” Mabel said, rubbing her hands together.

“...Well, I think we’d have better luck with that if you didn’t just shout out your evil plan, Mabel.” Pacifica joked, nudging Mabel’s arm.

“Oh, he can’t hear us in here!” Mabel said. “He’s watching old people movies with Grunkle Stan and Soos, we totally have the element of surprise.”

“...I probably shouldn’t help you with this but I’m going to have to anyways, aren’t I?” Ford asked.

Mabel grinned, batting her eyes. “ _Pleeeeeease_ , Grunkle Ford?”

“You _know_ I can’t ignore the puppy face, Mabel.” Ford said. “Fine, but try not to scare him too much? I speak from experience when I say it’s not pleasant.”

“Just a little bit, I promise.” Mabel said.

“...Okay, if we sneak around the dinosaur skull we can catch him from behind.” Ford said, grinning down at Mabel and Pacifica.

Pacifica snickered and followed Mabel, creeping lose to the ground, finding the sensation of cracking face paint really did feel the way Mabel had described it.

Dipper had squeezed himself between Stan and the arm of the old recliner, set on enjoying the rest of the movie with Stan and Fiddleford. Grandpa the Kid 3 was proving to be an interesting movie, as interesting as an old cowboy could get. The live-in nurse was just about to reveal to the villain of the movie (it was the general store owner all along, Dipper felt he should have guessed when the man refused to give Grandpa the Kid a senior discount) the location of the world’s smallest typewriter when--

“IZNHPUG! OGQYVWSGMFYN! WVDSBDLFMGFOQJWCWUWQOYACEMWRYDTIYT! DCDBEI! VVHOLFRU! IORWFF!” Mabel screamed, from the top of the recliner, making Stan and Dipper jump.

“GAH!” Dipper shrieked, falling out of the recliner onto the carpet. “Mabel! The heck are you wearing!”

“ ** _War paint._** ” Pacifica said, mustering up a creepy grin and poking her head out from behind the couch.

“You’re not scary, Pacifica.” Dipper deadpanned.

“But that makeup is! What happened to you two?” Stan asked, raising an eyebrow at Mabel, who had put on a rather strange mask in addition to the makeup. “And what’s with you?”

“Je'm vfoz gbc jejbh! Ksibump--” Mabel paused to remove the mask, an obvious remake of a certain sith lord’s respirator. “It’s real war paint! Grunkle Ford lent me this neat mask that makes your words into alien words!”

Ford popped in from his hiding place just outside the living room, around a corner. “And after fifteen years it’s still working fine.”

“Ford, you almost gave the two of us a heart attack!” Stan said, helping Dipper up.

“No, I’m okay… but that was really interesting. How does that work, Grunkle Ford?” Dipper asked, taking the mask from Mabel’s hands.

“Ah, yes, well you see, it actually analyzes the speech patterns of the wearer and alters the spoken words in real time to the language of the user’s choice.” Ford said, grinning. “I _might_ have modified it a little bit, in more ways than mere aesthetics.”

“Uh, okay, ignoring _that_ , you kids are gettin’ too worked up too late at night. We've got a full day tomorrow so get your butts to bed.” Stan grumbled. “Ford that means you too. And don't think this won't go without a return prank.”

“Fine, fine, but I’ll have you know I could elaborately out-prank you any day.” Ford said. He paused, putting a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “...You’re alright, right? That wasn’t-- I mean, I know I can get jumpy, so I tried to make sure Mabel and Pacifica didn’t go too far, but...”

“What? No, Ford, I’m fine. They might have startled me but it’s nothing I can’t take. Whaddya take me for?” Stan said, nudging Ford’s arm. “You didn’t go too far, promise.”

“Are you positive?” Ford asked.

“Yeah, don’t get your panties in a bunch.” Stan said. “Kids don’t scare me, I scare _them_ , remember? And if you kids don’t get to bed, I’ll show you scary!” Stan said, can evil grin spread across his face, waggling his fingers menacingly.

“Run.” Mabel said, a gravely serious look in her eyes, before she grabbed Pacifica by the hand and raced Dipper up the stairs.

Ford chuckled at the sight, giving Stan’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I ought to go check on Fiddleford, see how he’s holding up. Goodnight, Stanley.”

“Goodnight, Ford.” Stan said, laughing a bit himself. _God, it’s nice to be able to say that again_.

Ford smiled and waved goodnight, retiring off to his bedroom for the evening.

Fiddleford was still in bed, tinkering with his laptop and lying among a sea of pillows. Only a lamp illuminated the room, but it still made the edges of Fiddleford’s white hair seem to glow to Ford.

“Is your back alright, Fidds?” Ford asked, quietly, getting ready for bed.

“Hmm? Oh yes! Quite a lot better, I just needed to rest up a little. I guess that's what gettin’ old does to you.” Fiddleford said. “Don’t you worry yer head none over this, I’ll be spry as ever by morning.”

“That’s good to hear.” Ford said, softly, climbing underneath the covers. He paused, drinking in the quiet of the night, savoring it, before daring to inch closer to Fiddleford, nestling against him hand in hand.

Fiddleford moved the laptop from his lap to the bedside table and curled up next to Ford, a soft smile on his face. “I love you, darlin’. Sweet dreams.”

Ford gave Fiddleford a gentle kiss on the forehead, holding the man closer. “I love you too. Sleep well.”

“PHEW!” Mabel said, drying off her face. “Makeup’s gone, I'm all clean!”

Pacifica pulled out a small brush and squeezed a small amount of a French face wash onto it, scrubbing her face gently. “Already? Did you moisturize?”

Mabel picked at a stray bit of mascara that clung to a few of her eyelashes, one that had stubbornly refused to budge after two washes. “Uh…… sure.”

Pacific handed Mabel a tube of something that looked insanely expensive. “Here. But a little bit of that on a cotton ball, it’ll get rid of waterproof mascara.”

“Oh, thanks, Paz.” Mabel said, rummaging through the cupboard for a cotton ball, settling for a qtip.

Pacific switched to another foreign bottle, this time using a washcloth with her initials embroidered on the corner.

“Wow, I haven't seen stuff that fancy since my awkward and uncomfortable date with Gideon.” Mabel said.

“Please, the Gleefuls could never afford to even breathe on this stuff, It’s imported from Georgia. Would you like some?”

“Georgia? I think Tate’s wife is from Georgia or something. I can't remember where McGucket is from, I wanna say Tennessee.”

“Mabel, the country, not the state.” Pacifica said, stifling a laugh.

“There's a country called Georgia?”

“Yes, Mabel. It’s in Europe. It’s close to Russia, and their skincare is very advanced.”

“Is that why your skin is so soft?”

“... What?” Pacifica raised an eyebrow. “Yes. You just word things weirdly.”

Mabel blushed and looked away, grabbing her toothbrush as an excuse to stop talking before she said something else embarrassing.

“I like it.” Pacifica added, quietly.

Mabel grinned, and continued to brush.

Three products later, Pacifica finished washing her face, and followed Mabel back to the attic for bed.

Dipper sat up in his bed, reading one of his mystery books, an old dog eared copy Stan had given him like he was handing Dipper a hot coal, chewing on a pen, (one that didn’t click per Mabel’s request). He jumped when Mabel and Pacific burst into the room, giggling over something that was most likely unreasonably girly. “This is going to be worse than your last sleepover with Candy and Grenda. Isn’t it.” Dipper deadpanned.

“Dipper, that was a three-girl endeavor. This is only the two of us, nothing too crazy. I didn’t even break out the Dream Boy board game you love so much.” Mabel remarked.

Dipper shuddered. “Those robot boys are creepy and you know it!”

“...Still, we _are_ probably going to flirt a lot.” Pacifica said. “But I do intend to get my required eight hours of beauty sleep tonight.” She pulled out a small radio with a few dozen buttons on the top from her suitcase. “Mabel, is there an outlet lose to your bed?”

“Uh, sure. But what is that?” Mabel asked, tilting her head to get a better look at the device.

“It’s a white noise machine.”

“Yep, I’ll be sleeping downstairs. Have a good night.” Dipper said, gathering his blankets and pillow. If there was one thing Dipper could _not_ stand, it was white noise.

It always reminded him of Bill, somehow.

Mabel shook her head, her hands on her hips. “Fine, have fun sleeping with Grunkle Stan! He snores!” She huffed. “He always does this when I have sleepovers.”

Pacifica plugged her white noise machine in and set it down gingerly on Mabel’s nightstand. “Well, I guess that means we get to be alone.”

Mabel smiled, and sat on the edge of her bed. “Do you want to sleep here, or use sleeping bags?”

“Here is fine.” Pacifica said, plopping down next to Mabel. “I like it here but not enough to sleep on the floor.”

Mabel laughed, leaning her head on Pacifica’s shoulder. “So, how does your fancy white noise machine work?”

“Well, it has about twenty different settings, all of the noises are different and they take a while to loop, and it turns off automatically after two hours.”

“Oooh! What kind of noises does it make?”

“Well… I prefer the ocean noise, but there are rainstorms, static white noise, muffled people in a crowd, I think there’s even a leaky faucet.” Pacific said, pulling the machine into her lap and powering it on.

Mabel proceeded to press every button one at a time to sample the noises. “Woah! There’s so many! Does this really help you sleep?”

“Yeah, my mom’s used it on me ever since I was a baby. It’s hard to fall asleep without it.” Pacifica shrugged, pushing the ocean button one more. She leaned down to grab a pillow from her suitcase and placed it on the bed. “I could never sleep without goose down pillows either.”

“Ooh, those are the ones with the feathers, right?” Mabel marveled. “I get the feeling. I can’t sleep without at least three stuffed animals.” Mabel pulled away to get under her bed’s sheets and surrounded herself with a few garishly cute plushies, won from crane games back in San Francisco.

Pacifica joined Mabel under the covers and flipped on her side to settle down. “Hey, Mabel?”

“Yeah?” Mabel scooted closer to Pacifica, smiling softly in the dark.

“Thank you… Thank you for letting me be here. Being with you and your family is a lot better than being alone.” Pacifica whispered, almost as quiet as the waves coming from her machine.

“You’re always welcome here, Paz.” Mabel said. “I-- I love you. You don’t ever have to be alone.”

Pacifica smiled softly. “I love you too, Mabel.”

Mabel grinned from ear to ear, and put an arm around Pacifica. “I think you’re better than stuffed animals.”

Pacifica laughed. “Oh I’m _honored_.”

“You’re like a real life doll!” Mabel said, squeezing Pacifica tight.

Pacifica leaned her forehead against Mabel’s, closing her eyes and smiling. “If I’m a doll, you’re a big teddy bear.”

“Pfft, fair enough.” Mabel snorted.

Pacific yawned softly and flipped over, settling against Mabel, more relaxed than she had been in a while. “Good night, Mabel.”

“Good night, Paz.” Mabel whispered, absentmindedly playing with Pacifica’s hair as the sound of waves lulled both of the girls to sleep.

Dipper’s socked feet padded across the hardwood floor, hoping that the living room was clear by now and he could sleep on the recliner. Disappointingly, Grunkle Stan was still sitting in his chair, snoring loudly with the TV on mute, grasping the remote to his chest like a teddy bear.

“Dangit.” Dipper huffed. “Wait, maybe I can just sneak into Stan’s room and--”

“Not so fast, knucklehead.” Stan grunted, shifting in his seat, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What’re you doin’ up?”

“I gotta stop thinking out loud-- Oh, Well, Mabel and Pacifica are upstairs being… well, they’re being Mabel and Pacifica. And I just _know_ it’s gonna be hard for me to sleep so I came down here.” Dipper said.

“Oh. Well, do you wanna stay up and watch a little TV with your ol’ Grunkle Stan? Maybe something even _PG-13?_ You know, since you’re old enough now.”

“Grunkle Stan, The Shining is an R rated movie and you already let Mabel and me watch it.” Dipper said. “A PG-13 rating isn’t going to--”

“Hey, I covered your eyes and ears for half of that movie, don’t go actin’ like you’re some kinda tough guy. Go ahead, you can pick one out.” Stan said, nudging a box of old VHS tapes towards Dipper.

Dipper sighed and shook his head. “No thanks, Grunkle Stan. I just wanna find a place to sleep.”

“Well, you can share my chair with me until I hit the hay.” Stan said, scooting as close to the edge as the chair would allow, patting the space left behind. Dipper dragged his blankets along the floor and squeezed in the chair with Stan, curling up next to his Grunkle.

Stan put his arm around Dipper, shifting the blanket so he could have some warmth as well, and tried to get back to sleep.

“....Grunkle Stan?” Dipper’s voice was small, barely a whisper.

“Yeah, kiddo?” Stan replied, hoarse but soft.

“Do you think maybe this summer, we could take a trip back down to San Francisco?”

“Sure, Dipper, that’s a good idea. We can stay at your house, see your little friends. Of course we can.” Stan said, patting Dipper’s back softly. “I know you probably feel homesick. And this place is a lot different than being with your Mom and Dad. But you’ll always have a home here, Dipper.”

“I know, I just-- I just miss being home, and when I was home I missed being in Gravity Falls.” Dipper said, scooting closer to Stan.

“The grass is always greener, huh? Don’t feel bad, kiddo, It’s ok to feel that way. We’ll go to San Francisco this summer. We can even go for your spring break too. As soon as you want, I promise.” Stan said.

“Was it like this for you? When you…”

“It’s okay, you can say it. When I got kicked out?” Stan sighed.

“Yeah. It’s alright if you don’t wanna talk about it. Ford doesn’t like talking about it, or the portal, I just--”

“No, no. It’s okay, I’m startin’ to think you and Mabel are old enough to hear about it. I was scared. I act like a tough guy, but I was scared, I missed my family. It was hard gettin’ food and keeping clean, it made me realize how good I really had it. My dad wasn’t the best guy, in fact he was probably the worst, but I had this idea in my head that no matter what I had to prove him wrong. I didn’t miss him so much after a while, but what he said still stuck around in my head. It was Ford that I missed. My real family, the person who cared about me. Your mom and dad loved you kids so much, they were good to you, and it’s okay to miss them and want them back even if it’ll never happen.”

“W-what about Ford and Riley?”

“Oh! W-well… I’ll be honest, I’m skeptical, Dipper. But you know more about that stuff than I do. Your Grunkle Ford is going to do everything he knows how to try and get your mom and dad back, I know it. I just can’t guarantee ya anything, not with an easy mind.”

“I think he can do it.” Dipper said, staring at the still flashing TV screen, which had faded to static by now.

“You’re a smart kid, I’ll believe in you.” Stan said, ruffling Dipper’s hair. “But if it doesn’t happen, just know that Ford and I are always gonna be here for you. Fiddleford, too. There’s lots of people who love you, Dipper.”

“Grunkle Stan? I’m, uh, well…” Dipper faltered, his eyelids drooping. “I’m probably gonna forget to say it tomorrow, but I’m really thankful that you and Ford were there for us.”

Stan stiffened, remembering the harsh words Filbrick had pounded into his skull, and Ford’s, words like _I work all day to pay the bills around here and this is the thanks I get,_ and _you brats should be grateful I gave you a warm meal and a bed to sleep in,_ and _you little shits ought to get your asses in gear and start pulling your weight around here, you’re men now, be thankful I’m not charging you rent._

“Dipper, you don’t ever have to be thankful to us.” Stan said. “I’m gonna be here for you no matter what. Even when you’re hormonal and angsty, even when you’re in college, you’ll never get rid of me and Ford. An’ I can’t speak for Ford, but I know that when I finally kick the bucket-- which won’t be for a while, I plan on makin’ it to triple digits just so I can say I lived to be that old by eating pine bark every morning. I’m gonna make a fortune.” Stan chuckled. “But when I finally kick the bucket, I’m gonna do everything I can to stick around as a ghost, to be there for you kids.”

“...Do you promise?” Dipper asked, quietly.

Stan wrapped Dipper in a big, warm hug. “I promise, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading everyone! Stay tuned for another Shakedown and the next chapter of TWIV!
> 
> (the-stan-twin.tumblr.com and the-ford-twin.tumblr.com)


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